


The Pierce Academy

by samwise_baggins, Steve-Bucky-Stucky (Chemical30)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Fantastic Four (Movies 2005-2007), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Political Animals
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety Attacks, Character Death, Child Abuse, Choking, Coercion, Consensual Underage Sex, Drug Addiction, F/M, Graphic Description, Imprisonment, Juvenile Detention, M/M, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Sexual Violence, Underage Drinking, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-20 03:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 78,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11912163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical30/pseuds/Steve-Bucky-Stucky
Summary: Alexander Pierce runs a boarding school for over-privileged juvenile delinquents. When the kids arrive, they think it will be just another detention routine, but they are far from right. What they walk into is a hell even the most deviant teenager should never endure.This is a very dark fic containing almostnon-stop abuseagainst teenagers. Repeat, the abuse is almost non-stop! Do not read if you cannot handle this kind of dark fic. It is our darkest, most twisted yet.Warnings will be provided with each chapter.





	1. Flashbacks (prologue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Underage sex; Non-con/ Rape; Drug Addiction; Violence**

**STEVE- 15/ BUCKY- 16/ TJ- 16/ BECCA- 15: (a year before)**

Smiling as he kissed down his boyfriend’s abdomen, gentle nips between soft brushes of full lips, he headed lower, smiling up with his vivid blue eyes, watching the expressions, listening to the soft moans and whimpers from the older teen. Finally, slowly, Steve wrapped one small hand as far as he could around the thickened shaft of his boyfriend, Bucky. ”Want me to swallow you, Bucky?” he breathed. “Or you can . . . be in me the other way?” Steve smiled in anticipation.

Bucky lifted his hips slightly off the bed, eyes closed in ecstasy; between gasps he breathed, “Steve . . . God . . . ya gonna be the death of me.”

A sudden slamming on the bedroom door drew the attention of both nude lovers, and a slightly high voice whispered “Jimmy! It’s the cops! They got Mrs. Jinyun with them!” The voice could have belonged to either younger twin, Junior or Fred, but that wasn’t important. The message was.

With a gasp, Steve rolled off the bed and, in one fluid motion, slid under the frame, down among the dirty socks and dust bunnies. “Fuck!” he kept his voice to a whisper. “What’s your crazy ass neighbor want this time of day? On a weekend!”

Shooting to his feet, Bucky rushed over to the door, forgetting about his own nudity. “I don’t fucking know! Damnit!”

“Bucky,” Becca’s slightly huskier voice sounded from the other side. “They’re asking for Mom and Dad. What’ll I tell . . . hey! Get off!”

Bucky wrenched the door open, determined to talk down the cops. He needed to come up with a good story . . . mom and dad were out for the weekend. They asked him and Steve to watch the children while they were gone. _They’ll be back. Of course they’ll be back._ His eyes met those of his twin, TJ, and they exchanged a look of fear mixed with determination.

Steve peeked out from under the bed, a severe frown on his face, anger rising in his eyes. “Hey! Leave Beck alone!” And, without thinking, the naked teen slid back out from under the bed to throw himself into the fray.

Confusion reigned as two police officers and the lady from next door wrangled the six teens. “I only hear of five boys, officer sir. The yellow hair no belong here!” She called in her broken English, much better in her native Cantonese than in the foreign tongue of her recently adopted country.

One of the cops called loudly. “Stop fighting or I’ll book you all and send you all to Juvie prison!”

Steve froze, as did Junior and Fred. Becca, dressed in ragged jeans and a sweatshirt, kicked out at the cop holding her arm, a fierce scowl on her face, half hidden by her shoulder length tangled hair.

“Beck! Calm down! Stop!” Bucky and TJ snapped in unison; Bucky took a deep breath to calm himself down.

Head snapping up, eyes burning as she met her brothers’ commanding gazes, Becca drooped, hanging limply, angrily from the restraining hands from one of the officers.

Finally, when a semblance of peace reigned once more, the lead cop shook his head. “Okay, we have six boys, all under aged, alone without a single adult. Two of you guys need to put clothes on.” He held Steve by one arm and one of the younger twins, Junior, by an arm as well.

Flushing, just realizing his own nudity, Bucky tried to cover himself with his hands as best he could. He didn’t bother correcting the officer about the fact that there were actually five boys and one girl.

The second officer, holding Becca securely by an arm, glanced at the nude pair. He raised an eyebrow. “Showering, maybe?” he said, unconvinced by his own proffered story.

The head officer shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You,” he pointed to Bucky, “grab a robe or something for you and your boyfriend. We’re going to the station to sort this out.”

“Please, sir,” Bucky swallowed nervously, “Our parents are just gone for the weekend. They’ll be back on Monday. They asked Steve, TJ, and me to watch the kids . . . please. This is all just a big misunderstanding.”

“And instead of watching the kids, you two were playing in the bedroom?” the junior investigator sneered only to shut up at a glare from the main cop.

“I was watching the kids,” TJ stated, looking at the police officer with wide eyes. TJ wasn’t stupid; he knew how bad this whole thing looked.

A knock on the door, followed by a woman’s voice in the hall, interrupted. “Hello? Is this the house? Child Services . . .”

Bucky groaned and looked to Steve desperately.

The blond frowned, eyes snapping in anger, and he called, “no, ma’am, wrong house. This is just a misunder . . .”

The cop interrupted, “Yes, Ma’am. Come on in. We’ve got six teenaged boys. The neighbor says she hasn’t seen any adults here for over two years.”

The red-haired woman, looking exhausted, lips pursed, walked over, heels clicking. “So, I have a record from the school listing five children in this house. Which one . . . ah, the blond no doubt.” She marked on a notebook she carried, talking out loud, “Sixteen, right James?” she looked up to identify the eldest boy.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky hung his head, now that Children Services was involved . . . they were all screwed.

“And another sixteen, a fifteen, and two thirteen?” She looked up, thankfully skipping mentioning genders.

“Yeah,” Bucky really wished he’d thought of grabbing some clothes.

“And the blond, what’s your name?”

“Steve Rogers,” he responded, finally trying to put a hand over his genitals.

“So, Steve Rogers. Twelve?” the woman asked, glancing down at her notes.

Anger flared in the fifteen year old’s eyes. He despised being accused of being so young, hated how he looked like a little kid. “No,” he ground out, blue eyes sparking. For the past year, since his own mother’s untimely, and hidden, death, Steve’s anger had steadily grown. “I’m fifteen.”

“Right,” she said and marked her notebook, her tone disbelieving. “Well, you need to call your parents to come get you, Steve, so we can sort this out with the Barnes children.”

A pallor crept down over Steve’s features and he looked desperately at his best friend, boyfriend, and current benefactor. When Sarah Rogers had died, Bucky had agreed to let Steve move in, since his own parents had been missing for just over a year by then. No one knew what had happened to the Barnes parents still, though Bucky and TJ seemed to keep the hopes up for their younger siblings.

Bucky didn’t say anything, just continued to look down, defeated.

“Buck?” Steve whispered, but the woman cut him off.

“Okay, if you refuse to cooperate, you can come, too. We’ll sort you out as soon as we get them organized.” The woman nodded to the cops as she walked into the open bedroom, Bucky’s. She glanced round, grabbed a pair of pants and tossed them out the door at Bucky. “Get dressed, James.” She then found a bathrobe and carried it over to drape on Steve; it dragged on the ground as it was Bucky’s and the older teen was so much taller.

Grabbing the pants before they could fall to the floor, Bucky quickly pulled them on with a blush, horrified that his younger sister and so many strangers had seen him naked. He couldn’t meet any of his sibling’s or Steve’s eyes, knowing that he’d failed them all. They were going to be separated now that Children Services was involved . . . Bucky felt completely helpless to do anything.

With a nod, the woman smiled. “That’s better. We’re going to the station and discuss this. We’ll get Steve home in a few hours.” And the woman turned, leading the officers and their new chargers from the house amid staring neighbors with camera phones and shouted questions.

Several hours later, the woman informed Bucky that he would be transferred to a school for troubled youths, along with his _‘brother’_ Beck and twin Thomas. Again, she seemed unaware that Becca was a female. At Bucky’s questions, she informed him coldly that the younger twins were already being put into foster care, but Bucky’s deviant sexual behavior with a twelve year old, and his brother’s assault of a cop had earned the pair of them this placement at the school, and no one felt like trying to separate a pair of twins without further recommendation by child psychologists, so TJ was going to the juvenile detention school, too.

The subject was closed.

**************

_SAM- 16 ½: (six months ago)_

The obnoxious beeping of his heart monitor was the first thing to come back to Sam. Next, the strong, almost nauseating, smell of hospital-grade disinfectant. He could feel stiff sheets crinkle under him as he shifted, only slightly. A sharp, overwhelming pain ran down his spine at the small movement; groaning, Sam opened his eyes, only to shut them quickly due to the blinding light in his hospital room.

_Why am I in the hospital?_

The memories came back to him in a tidal wave, a thundering, painful crash that left him gasping and his head pounding. Riley, that sexy smirk gracing his pink lips as he bent over from the passenger seat. Pleasure thrumming through Sam’s entire body, making him close his eyes and his hand wrap tightly in Riley’s blond hair. A loud, shrill sound of a car horn blaring causing Sam’s eyes to snap open and Riley to pull away. Trying to swerve out of the way of the oncoming car but overcorrecting. The car flipping, rolling over and over again. Riley, laying over the dash, blood running down the side of his face from a large gash.

_Riley!_

Opening his eyes again, it took a few moments for Sam’s eyes to focus and gather in his surroundings. Sitting up, ignoring the pain that radiated from his right arm, which was wrapped heavily in gauze, Sam saw his mother sitting in the chair across the room, chin falling against her chest as she dozed.

“Mom,” Sam croaked, his voice raspy from disuse.

Martha’s head immediately snapped up to look over at her son. She bolted out of her chair and hurried over to her son’s bedside; gripping his hand in her’s softly, she smiled gently, “Sam, honey, you’re awake.” She placed a kiss against his forehead, mindful of the large bruise on the left side.

“Wh - - where’s Riley?” Sam asked, eyeing his mother intently.

Her smile fell at the mention of Sam’s best friend; Martha carefully ran her fingers through her son’s short hair.

Sam’s heart pounded; his world seemed to tilt dangerously and his stomach heaved. “Mom . . . Mom - - he’s okay, right? He’s fine?”

“Oh, sweetie . . . I’m so sorry.” She breathed; she shook her head and opened her mouth to say something, but no words seemed to come out.

As fast as he could, Sam wrenched away from his mother’s comforting hand. With a wince, as his head pounded, Sam shouted, “Where’s Riley?! Mom! He’s fine!”

“Sam, honey, calm down,” Martha cooed but didn’t make any other effort to calm her son, “Sam . . . I’m sorry. Riley - - Riley didn’t make it.”

Sam’s breath rushed out of his lungs in a solid swoosh of air. He looked up at his mother with wide, incredulous eyes. “No! No! You’re lyin’! Why you lyin’ to me?!” Sam screamed and moved to get up off the bed to look for his friend, and secret boyfriend, but Martha placed her hands firmly on her son’s shoulders.

“Sam!” Martha yelled, “Sam, lay down! Nurse! Someone help!”

Sam didn’t listen; he continued to thrash against his mother’s hands, “No! I need to see Riley! You’re lyin’! You’re lyin’ to me!”

It took three nurses and a syringe full of drugs to finally calm Sam back down, right before his eyes slipped shut again, Sam murmured, “Riley . . . Riley, I’m so sorry.”

**************

**RILEY- 16 ½: (six months ago)**

A steady beeping noise drew him from a dark well, followed by pain shooting through the side of his head. Riley groaned, his green eyes fluttering open. “Sam?” He tried to move, a memory of pain and noise and lights and heart-pounding fear colliding into the darkness of his mind. “Sam?” Distantly, the blond teen heard the sound of people running down the hall, to some distant emergency, and sudden awareness washed over the youth.

_A hospital . . . my God, we’re in the hospital!_

Riley tried to turn his head but found his neck bound in something stiff, unyielding, and terrifyingly painful. “Sam?” His tone turned desperate.

“Dead.”

The voice was cold, withdrawn, disapproving. His father.

Riley’s eyes snapped to the side as far as he could see and his frowning father leaned into view. “What? Did you say . . .”

“Nice to know your first thought is of that lunatic instead of your mother and I.” Again, the disapproving tones. His father had always seemed to accept Sam. What had changed?

“Lunatic?” Riley parroted, confusion warring with the pain in his head and neck. “Dad? You like Sam?” Riley felt troubled that it came out as a question.

“No. I didn’t,” the man said, still coldly. “And frankly, if he weren’t dead, I would have you cut off the relationship completely.”

“Dead?” he echoed. “What do you mean dead?” Of course Riley knew what the word _meant_. But, Sam wasn’t _dead_. He was alive and vibrant and they had been together last night . . . Riley had tried something he’d seen in a movie . . . and the horn sounded and Riley had barely managed to pull his head from under the steering wheel, banging his neck, and the world turned over and over and over.

“He was flung from the car and snapped his neck,” his father intoned, his voice cold and disapproving. “He was reckless and endangered your life, and he paid the price.”

“What? Sam . . . de . . .” Riley couldn’t say the word, couldn’t put the reality to what his father said.

The man leaned over and growled low, “he had his penis pulled out of his trousers, Kestrel! Deviant and leading you down the same path! You’re better off without him. He’s better off dead.”

A low hum rang through Riley’s ears as his father’s words kept pounding in the horrible truth. Finally, with a cry of pain deeper than any through his gashed head and sprained neck, Riley passed out.

**************

**Clint- 16: (Three days before)**

Sitting on the edge of the hard, wooden chair, eyes tracing the nebulous design across the fading wallpaper, Clint Barton seemed lost to the conversation happening around him.

Sounding exasperated, the woman in the smart business suit shook her head, “He hasn’t spoken once since we’ve gotten him. His brother’s an absolute terror, but with all that’s happened, we hardly expected a total angel. But, the older boy . . .” she shook her head, smoothing her hands down her clothing.

The harried looking man in slacks, button down shirt, and loose jacket sighed, sending an annoyed glare to the unwitting teenager still studying the wall, as if totally absorbed by the lines and whorls. With a shake of his head, the adult male rolled his eyes. “You’re the third family that we’ve placed him with since the fire . . . he lost his parents, nearly lost his brother. Surely, this is just part of the grieving process?”

“No,” the woman cut him off. “It’s not. And it’s far from normal. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t associate with the other foster kids. I already have two special needs foster children, including his very injured brother. I cannot take a third, uncooperative teenager with emotional instability.” She shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. You need to take him back.”

Having remained quiet the entire discussion, a second woman, in jeans and a sweater, stepped forward. “He never bothered to unpack, so he’s still packed up. And,” she held up her hand, “what my partner hasn’t mentioned is that the other kids have reported missing things. Money, small objects, jewelry. Today, we found the stolen items among his stuff. We can’t harbor a thief.” She crossed her arms, frowning.

The man nodded and sighed. “I understand.” He strode to the teen and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, drawing a surprised jump from the youth.

Clint turned his head to look up at the harried social worker. Not saying anything, the blond boy stood and reached for his suitcase and battered paper grocery sack. This was routine for the displaced boy, this moving from place to place, home to home. But, Clint looked around with a worried frown, where was his little brother, Barney? Every time they’d moved, it had been together.

“C’mon, Clinton. I haven’t got any current openings for you, but there’s a home for troubled kids . . . a school, really, that can take you in.” The social worker clamped his fingers tighter over the boy’s shoulder, guiding him rather forcefully from the room.

Shocked, Clint tried to pull away, dropping his belongings, and looked desperately around for his brother. “Barney!” he called out, his voice an inflectionless monotone filled with confusion and grief. “No!”

But the man, and both women, pushed Clint out the door and into the waiting service car, a brown-haired girl scooping up the abandoned clothing and toiletries to hand off to the adults. As the girl put the baggage in the back seat, the social worker turned to his once-again charge. “Don’t worry, Clinton. It’s only until you settle, get your grades back up, get some counseling, stop these petty thefts. You’ll be out before you know it, kiddo.”

Confusion writhed through Clint’s face and he shook his head, calling for his brother Barney, unsure what happened or why. Since waking in the hospital, everyone had been speaking softer and more mumbled with each passing day. If they’d only speak louder, clearer, so he knew what they wanted of him! Barney understood . . . Clint reached for the car door handle, but the vehicle pulled away and the sixteen year old’s hand fell to his lap in stunned defeat.

He was on his way who knew where and his baby brother was being left further and further behind. Tears ran unchecked down Clint’s face and he bowed his head against the cold window, sobbing.

**************

**Tony- 17: (the day before)**

Numbly, Tony stood at the large picture window overlooking the large heated pool and hot tub set in a marble and acacia wood patio. His eyes didn’t take in the crowd of men and women, dressed fashionably in black designer clothing with splashes of color, moving around with drinks in their bejeweled hands, trading gossip in subdued voices with false brave smiles on their faces.

Lifting a fluted glass of amber colored liquid, the teenager downed the alcohol without even tasting the burning liquor. He reached absently for another glass from among the dozen or so set on the side board. He continued to look out, with unseeing, far away brown eyes over the wake that would shortly be surging into his home, celebrating the death of his parents with expensive food and drinks - - all while providing empty words to the surviving son.

Again, the seventeen year old downed one of the drinks the servants had been pouring for the various rich and influential people invited to publicly mourn the loss of Maria and Howard Stark. Their lone child, Tony, barely knew the names of a handful of the attendees let alone the people who accompanied the names. He had to trust his father’s business partner, and now his formal guardian, to handle all the details.

Wishing he didn’t have to be there, putting his grief on display for the reporters and the world, Tony would much rather be ensconced in his game room. He could lose himself in the various online games with the anonymous people behind the varied letters and numbers that made up the identities of other gamers from across the planet. Those mysterious people with the avatar faces and random emoji pictures felt more real than anyone outside the wide mahogany doors of the grand Stark mansion.

Tony took another drink, having lost count, uncaring, he downed the liquid yet again.

Finally, someone seemed to take notice and slipped the fluted stem from the teen’s fingers, placing the glass on the sideboard. “Tony, Tony, Tony . . .” Obadiah Stane shook his head, wrapped a comforting arm around the youth, and guided him, unprotesting, away from the large window. “I’ve been troubled, Tony. How to honor your parent’s wish to see you taken care of. What to do to make sure you get the education you deserve.” Obadiah shook his head, his voice smooth as he sighed, “If you need a therapist or just some time?”

The black-haired teen didn’t answer for a long moment before offering his guardian a shrug. “Not important,” he responded.

“That’s what I thought,” Obadiah answered with a frown and a nod. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you, Tony?”

Honestly, not denying the amount of alcohol he’s consumed while avoiding the wake, Tony nodded. “Yeah. I drank . . . not sure how much. Don’t much care, Obi.”

The older man shook his head and guided Tony into his bedroom, where a pair of servants scurried around packing clothing into a set of monogrammed luggage. “I was afraid of that. Tony,” Obadiah turned the teen to face him, frowning at the lost, haunted looking boy billionaire. “We can’t have you drunk, Tony. You need to break this cycle.” He squeezed Tony’s arms with an encouraging looking smile. “But I know a man that can help. He runs a school for boys like you, troubled and adrift. He’ll make sure to set you back on track.”

Opening his mouth to reply, Tony found his words cut off when Obadiah continued. “You’re leaving for The Pierce Academy in half an hour. I’ll make your excuses to the guests.” He squeezed the teen’s shoulders again and smiled almost gently into Tony’s near dead brown eyes.

“It’s for the best, Tony.”


	2. Unwilling Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Choking, Anxiety, Threats against Students, implied sexual situations**

As a police car pulled to a stop on the neatly raked gravel drive, a tall blond teen leaned closer to the window of the backseat, trying to see this new home he’d been sent to. A large mansion sprawled on neatly groomed lawns at the top of a lush green lawn, stretching for acres before ending in a high, trimmed border of hedges. The front door of the cruiser opened, drawing the blond’s attention and he slumped back against his seat, his handcuffs rattling at his wrists. Opening the back door, apparently ignoring the other vehicles arriving around them, the policeman grabbed the teen’s arm and tugged him out.

With a glare for the police official, the six foot two inch youth stepped from the car, flexing his muscular arms as he eyed the house more clearly. He turned as the cop spoke in a low growl.

“You’re here until you turn eighteen, so try to take advantage of the help they’re offering . . . the counselors and other things. You’ll get a good education here, too. Don’t waste it.”

Nodding, basically ignoring the shorter, older man, the teen glanced over the lawns, looking for yet another way to run away, still plotting on finding his way back home, back to the people he loved.

Finally, the cop sighed and walked to the door, tugging his ward along with him. He rang the bell, awaiting the elite juvenile’s school’s headmaster.

Above, looking out the third floor window, the five foot nine inch blond with green eyes and a scar running jagged down the side of his face turned to his companions. “School starts tomorrow. Newbies.” His tone came out distant and uncaring. He hadn’t found anything in the last six months to make him really care again . . . not since he’d killed his best friend.

“Welcome to hell,” Bucky spat, tucking a strand of his long brown hair behind his ears; he shoved his right hand into the pocket of his grey trousers.

Riley nodded back, glancing once more out the window at the multitude of vehicles, but he lost interest and turned away completely, not wanting to witness all the new juvenile delinquents arriving for their court-appointed sentences.

The third student, slightly smaller than the six foot brunet but looking practically identical to him, pressed her face to the window. She, too, wore the standard boy’s uniform of dress shirt, tie, jacket, and trousers, shoes shined to a mirror finish. Pushing her shoulder length brown tresses behind her ear, in unconscious echo of her brother, Becca snorted. “Hey, there’s a black guy! Ole Pierce is going mixed race now.” Her voice was low and rasping, sounding on the verge of masculine, aiding in her continuing disguise as the _little brother_ of Bucky and TJ Barnes.

Riley ignored the sixteen year old and moved over to the hard wooden bench running along the outside walls of the classroom. He sank down and untied his polished shoe. “So? He’s probably got some rich politician complaining about segregation so found himself a good looking black juvie to bring in.” He re-tied the shoe strings and looked up at Bucky. “So, we gonna haze them like we were when we came in?” he asked the unofficial leader of their little band of boarders.

“This place is horrible enough. They don’t need that.” Bucky said as he looked out the window. He and TJ only had one more year of this hell hole, then he’d figure out how to get Becca out, and they would start new lives. They’d get jobs and support the family as Becca went to school, a good school. He’d look for the twins and try to get them back as well. Bucky dreamed about finding his small blond best friend again . . . but he knew the chances of that were slim to none.

TJ, who leaned against the wall, watching the arriving teenagers with glazed over eyes, shook his head and peeled away from the surface. He looked down and frowned softly when he realized his tie wasn’t straight. TJ lifted shaky hands to try and fix it before one of the staff saw.

Riley let out a sigh and stood, stepping over to the other teen and straightening his tie for him. He went on to make sure all of TJ’s uniform was acceptable. “Shouldn’t lean on the wall, might get dirty,” he softly admonished.

“Sorry,” TJ mumbled in reply, letting Riley fix his uniform, “jus’ a little tired today . . .”

Nodding, not questioning that claim, TJ was always tired, Riley stepped back and glanced to the window. There were many more students outside by then. He sank back to the bench.

Below the group, out in the vast drive, a limousine pulled up to the side. The chauffeur slid gracefully from his seat and walked around to the back, opening the door. A tall, balding man dressed in a designer suit stepped out and looked around, quite pleased. He turned and barked a command to the teenager sitting dejectedly inside. Scrambling smoothly from the back of the limo, Tony Stark, a face well known recently due to the widely publicized death of his parents over the weekend, glanced over his new home. The reputed billionaire boy seemed more interested in the neatly trimmed grass than the other students arriving around him. He had his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans, a t-shirt proclaiming >i>‘It’s all fun and games until someone divides by zero,’ hanging loosely from his frame.

Stepping off the bus, Sam barely passed the bottom step before the driver shut the door, managing to hit the back of the teen’s heel, and speeding away back down the drive. He looked up at the towering mansion and shook his head. Who would want a bunch of juvenile delinquents running around a house _that_ nice?

The tall blond turned away from the door, which still remained closed despite the cop’s continued knocking. Steve noted he was no longer alone at this grand mansion for the terminally delinquent. Shrugging his shoulders, easing the tension in his muscles from having his wrists cuffed together, the blond studied the dark-skinned teen and the other brunet standing around. He waited for the black kid to look up at him and nodded, blue eyes serious, no smile, but nodded . . . in acknowledgement of their similar predicament, their joint imprisonment. Steve had quickly outgrown all the clothes he’d been provided, so his jeans looked more like they were painted on and his t-shirt clung at two sized too small, _‘I may look calm, but in my head I’ve punched you 5 times’_ written across the front.

Sam nodded once to the tall blond, eyes trailing over the tight clothes, leaving nothing to the imagination. He forced his eyes to look away; Sam continued to look around the property. A pair of brown-haired boys staring out a window, looking down at them, caught his eye.

A white SUV pulled up and out stepped a tall strawberry blond, even taller than Steve at six foot four inches. He was dressed in a nice suit, his lanky frame complimented by the obviously tailored style. He stepped aside as another, identical, boy climbed from the car, looking up at the mansion with wide, wondering eyes. The car pulled off, heading towards a distant garage around the side of the grand house. The second boy also had dressed in a suit, dark brown as compared to his twin’s dark grey.

Becca snorted. “Five so far, Buck. Can’t get a good look at the one blond, but the others aren’t too bad. Look like the typical rich kids that come here to straighten out and get pulled by the end of term.” She shook her head, itching to open the window and listen to anything the new students said, but definitely not wanting to break the strict rules . . . and touching the windows was breaking a rule.

Bucky’s eyes moved to the blond, eyes narrowing, “ _Jesus!_ That guy is huge.”

“Don’t let Pierce hear you, Buck. He might move up your lessons if he thinks you’ve switched interests.” Becca frowned at her brother.

Scoffing, Bucky shook his head, not tearing his eyes away from the muscular blond, “He can’t do anything worse to me, Beck. He doesn’t scare me anymore.”

“He scares _me_ ,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes as she watched several taxis pull up. “Looks like the rich folks didn’t want to bother with that lot,” she commented.

From the doorway to the classroom a smooth voice asked, “and what is so interesting?” Alexander Pierce stood, polished and perfect from his strawberry hair to his shined shoes, dressed to represent the school at it’s finest.

Bucky straighten and whirled around, fighting the urge to push his sister behind him. “New students, sir,” Bucky mumbled. TJ’s eyes widened slightly, he quickly looked down to make sure his uniform was right, despite Riley having helped him moments before.

With a smile that didn’t meet his eyes, the man strode into the room to stop right next to Bucky, glancing down at the continuing arrivals. He turned his head to look over the seventeen year old brunet. “Yes, tomorrow term starts once more. Do you think any of this group will qualify for special lessons?” He reached over and stroked a lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear.

Bucky closed his eyes and clenched his left fist, the muscles aching dully, “I don’t know, sir,” he muttered as he opened his eyes to look at the older man.

“You might be intrigued by this lot, James. There’s a drunk, a petty thief, and one who pulled a Kestrel.” Alexander Pierce glanced over at the stiff form of Riley sitting nearby. “He killed someone,” Pierce said.

“Don’t sound much different than the usual, sir,” Bucky grumbled, eyes moving to look out the window again.

“One of the boys has a history of running away and assault,” Pierce went on, glancing out in apparent amusement. “And another has nearly killed his own father, putting him in the hospital in serious condition. This group houses several violent ones, looking to lash out. They might need a steady hand . . . guidance.” Pierce looked back at the pretty boy next to him.

Swallowing, Bucky took a deep breath, wishing the older man would go away. “Isn’t that why they’re here, sir? For guidance?” His eyes flickered to Becca before snapping to meet Pierce’s again.

Behind Bucky, TJ snorted ever so softly.

“Exactly, James, exactly,” Pierce said and let his hand fall to Bucky’s shoulder then caress down his back and over his backside. Finally the man strode towards the door. “You will meet in the auditorium, James. Bring Beck and Kestrel. I think you will need to accompany these new recruits on their journey. You seem to have lost your way.” He paused then tilted his head slightly. “And bring that one, too,” he indicated TJ with a flick of his fingers. “He’s ever in need of refresher lessons.” The man left, his footfalls echoing down the polished hall floor.

As soon as Pierce left the room, Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Accompany them? He doesn’t mean what I think he means?” Becca said, voice hesitant.

“What?” Riley looked over at Bucky. “Wait . . . I just barely got out of holding. Now he’s gonna put me back in?” Panic began to rise in the smaller teen’s voice.

“You’ll be fine, Riley.” Bucky said quickly, composing himself, “C’mon we don’t want to be late . . . you know what happens if we’re late.” He stepped away from the window; looking down at his younger sister; he offered her a small, reassuring smile.

“Wait, is Riley serious?” Becca followed the blond from the room, looking back at her brothers as she whispered. “Are we being put back through initiation? Back in full holding? No private rooms? Again?” She wrapped her arms around herself, frowning.

Bucky felt almost relieved, for himself, about the idea of no private rooms. Maybe the late night visits would stop. However, he frowned at his sister and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Hey, it’ll be alright, okay? We got through it once, we can get through it again. I ain’t letting them take you away.”

TJ whimpered softly; initiation had been horrible from what he could remember, though most of it blurred in a haze.

Becca glanced at her sensitive brother and reached over to squeeze his hand briefly before dropping it once more. She nodded and took a deep breath, dropping her hands to her sides as she approached the stairwell. The students were required to walk with dignity and poise at all times, like gentlemen.

As the group came down the final staircase, Becca stopped, eyes widening at the sight of about four other females, in skirt suit uniforms, being led into the auditorium. There hadn’t been other females in the last year the Barnes siblings had been in the school. “Buck?” She whispered. “Did you see that? Girls . . .”

“Yeah, I saw.” Bucky reported with a terse nod, “Just keep with the plan okay?”

“Yes, females,” Pierce’s voice came from close by. “But you are to keep your hands and other body parts away from them, gentlemen.” The man smiled at the group.

“Yes, sir,” Becca said, her voice low, keeping her cover as a boy.

“Of course, sir,” Bucky flashed Pierce a smile, “we wouldn’t want to distract them from their schooling.”

With a laugh, Pierce nodded. “And here I thought you might be rebelling against your present lessons, James. But I think I know why you are so sour today. Jealousy. There are many other pretty boys coming in, and you’re afraid that you will lose your place as my favorite.” Pierce shook his head. “Well, if you behave and show them the way, you will soon earn your place once again, James. Do not fear.” He let his eyes trail over the boy in his uniform then moved back to Bucky’s face.

Bucky felt his stomach lurch and he nearly puked all over Pierce’s shiny shoes, but he pushed the feeling away. “Thank you, sir. That’s good to know.” He just needed to last one more year . . . one more year and he could get Becca, TJ and himself out of this hell.

“Fortunately, James, our youngest student this term is sixteen. You will find it a relief that you will not be tempted by your past . . . deviances. It will be easier to continue your extra lessons without such a distraction.” Pierce watched Bucky intently.

Once again, TJ snorted quietly, shaking his head at the false allegations that Bucky had slept with a twelve year old child.

Flushing, wanting nothing more than to correct the older man like he’d done so many times, Bucky looked down. _One more year_. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

“Very good, find your seats, at the back for now. I will be assigning rooms shortly and you will need to show your new roommates the way,” the man confirmed Becca’s fear that they’d been shunted back to basics once more, without any of the perks they’d worked so hard to achieve.

Without a word, Becca and Riley moved into the room, but Pierce stopped Bucky with a hand on his shoulder, blocking TJ from walking into the room. He once again pushed hair behind Bucky’s ear and smiled at the teen. “If you were not so pretty with that long hair, I would demand that it be cut, James. Keep it controlled, as an example for the other students and your brothers. Beck is beginning to look positively feminine.”

Bucky froze and nodded firmly, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir, I’ll make sure it’s neat for you.” The brunet cringed softly as the words left his mouth.

“Of course, if you think Beck will have trouble with his hair, you may have him see the doctor for a trim.” Pierce let his hand caress Bucky’s strong neck then stepped away. “Your seat, James. Do not be late. A bad example if our senior student breaks the rules.” He allowed the twins to move past him, barely glancing at TJ.

Ducking inside quickly, Bucky found an open seat between Riley and Becca and slumped down, TJ sat on the other side of Riley. Bucky’s left arm throbbed and he moved to massage it with his right, “God, I hate that man.” He whispered.

Riley shot his hand out to stop Bucky. “No, Bucky, he’ll see and you’ll be sent to the doctor again,” he warned. None of them wanted to see Doctor Zola without clothes on; haircuts and dental exams were bad enough.

Immediately, Bucky dropped his hand and placed it in his lap. He took a deep breath and willed the pain to go away. TJ leaned over slightly to give his twin a concerned glance, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thighs. For always being tired, TJ also seemed to be in constant motion.

At the front of the room, Alexander Pierce smiled benevolently on the new students, the largest group thus far for his school. Flanking him at a small distance stood the security guards, Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins. In chairs around the back of the raised stage sat the rest of the staff. Nodding as the last student, a lean six foot blond dressed in dark blue, settled, Pierce raised his hands as if to silence the already quiet room.

“Welcome to the Pierce Academy. You are here to deal with your past and look to the future. As you have most likely been notified, this is a school with a high success rate. In fact, we have not had a single failure from our students. Our rules are strict, our lessons considered among the hardest, but you will leave this school entirely new people, with careers and new lives almost tailor made for you.” He beamed down at the amassed teenagers.

“First, as you see, you each have a binder of rules, a school map, a list of acceptable down time activities, and a copy of the room assignments. As you are all in the initial transition phase of schooling, you will all be treated equally, with benefits earned as you progress. We do have four students remaining from last term but they have graciously agreed to participate once more in the initial transition with you, to aid you and demonstrate how to best get through.” Pierce bowed at the shoulders as if honoring the four volunteer students.

“Graciously my ass,” TJ grumbled on a low whisper.

“Once you have your room assignments, you will follow the corridor outside to the left until you reach the stairs going down. Follow those stairs until you get to the transitional rooms. Each of you will go into your room and stand by your bunk. Once everyone has entered their rooms, we will continue with the process of transitioning, including giving you the acceptable remains of your luggage and any supplies you may still lack. Anything you brought that should not be here will be returned.”

Pierce finally stopped speaking to look around at the twenty-four students.

Becca made a strangled noise in her throat.

Bucky looked down at his lap, but at his sister’s distressed noise, he looked over and squeezed her knee reassuringly, “It’ll be okay,” he whispered.

“Now, if you will open your binder to the first page, you will note your school room assignments. I shall read this out loud for you so that you may follow along. Of course, if you have a nickname you prefer or I mispronounce your name, feel free to raise your hand and inform me.” He stared at the young adults with a look that proclaimed that he might be friendly presently but he should not be corrected under any cost.

As the students opened their binders, one stocky blond looked around to watch everyone around him. Slowly he opened his binder, as if following what they did.

Steve frowned but determined he would obey for the moment, so he, too, opened his book, but he refused to read the names on the page, instead staring intently at the falsely pleasant man standing behind the podium.

“He’ll put us in the same room, Beck, it’ll be okay,” Bucky reassured quietly, trying to calm his sister down. Bucky felt bad that TJ had often been left out since arriving at the school, but he hoped TJ understood that Becca needed more help with her _predicament_. TJ could handle himself, he always had.

Pierce looked at his list then at the students. “Sharon and Natasha, you are in room one.” He paused as if waiting for a correction that didn’t come.

A blond girl nodded and offered a smile around, apparently trying to spot her roommate. Finally, her smile dropped and she looked back at her binder.

Continuing, Pierce listed, “room two are Virginia and Wanda. Three will be Thor and Jonas. Four, Jarvis and James.” He paused again and looked directly at Bucky with a small smile.

Becca whimpered in her throat.

Bucky froze and his blood rushed through his ears.

“Rhodes. I apologize,” Pierce laughed smoothly. “We seem to have more than one James this term. James Rhodes will be with Jarvis.” His eyes never left Bucky’s, apparently judging his reaction.

Bucky squeezed Becca’s leg again and let out a sigh of relief. “It’ll be okay,” he repeated again.

“Room five,” Pierce once again began his list, “will be Lucky and Neal.”

A thin, black haired boy seemed to stiffen, but didn’t raise his voice. Loki’s green eyes merely narrowed, despising the mispronunciation immediately but intent on proving to his father that he could deal with foreigners better than his oafish older brother, so he would not complain and be put on report.

Pierce’s eyes fell on the thin brunet and he smirked slightly, as if he knew exactly what the teen was thinking. “Room six is Anthony and Scott. Room seven is Clinton and Peter.” He shook his head and smiled again. “I apologize, we have two Peters, as well. Peter Maximoff will be with Clinton.”

“Pietro,” a tall, silver-haired teen with a heavy accent called out from somewhere in the middle of the group.

“Pee-ay-tro,” Pierce over-pronounced back at the youth, his eyes intent on the silver-haired boy.

Bucky cringed, knowing that Pierce did not like to be corrected, and the fact that the silver-haired teen didn’t raise his hand would only anger the older man more.

“Well, since most of your fellow students will be unable to pronounce such a _subtle_ name, we will call you Pete.” He pursed his lips, as if thinking, but his eyes flashed.

Pietro frowned and opened his mouth to say something.

“And,” Pierce interrupted the boy, “as you neglected to follow the rule which states you need to raise your hand before offering your opinion, Pete, you and your roommate are now on punishment for the rest of the day. I hope Clinton understands that this is to promote unity.”

No one reacted to the pronouncement, no _‘Clinton’_ seeming bothered in any way that he was now being punished for his roommate’s mistake. Pierce seemed momentarily surprised by the lack of anger or shock.

Bucky shook his head at the cruel behavior; he wished he could stand up and scream at all these other teens to leave but, of course, he remained seated, his main focus on getting his siblings out in a year; he needed to be well behaved.

Pierce looked over the crowd of teenagers then said, “Room seven will be Anthony and Scott.” As there were no outbursts, he said, “and Room eight will be our other Peter, Parker, and Wade. Unfortunately, Wade has been severely injured and will need help and guidance. I will expect you to aid your roommate, Peter.”

A thin dark-haired boy gulped and nodded then turned to find his roommate. Spotting a tall student covered in healing scars, he gave the other boy a small wave and a hopeful smile. Surprise crossed the injured boy’s face and he nodded. He hadn’t expected kindness from someone in a juvenile school for rich delinquents.

“See? I told you he’d put us together . . . nothing to worry about.” Bucky whispered, leaning closer to Becca, who smiled in relief at him.

“Now, the last rooms,” Pierce laughed softly. “Room nine is Beck and Bruce. Beck is one of our senior students so he will be one of the ones you may look to for an example of how to go on.”

Bucky’s fingers tightened around his sister’s knee, letting out a soft gasp of surprise while TJ actually narrowed his eyes in Pierce’s direction, consequences be damned.

Skin going pale, Becca merely sat straighter, plastering a fake smile to her face and nodding to any students or staff who looked her way. She didn’t dare look at Bucky.

The headmaster met TJ’s glare with a smirk. He continued as if there was no problem in the ranks. “Room ten is James, our other James, and Kestrel. Both are senior students and can guide you as well.”

Sam straightened and looked around the room with wide eyes as he heard that familiar name. He scanned all the students’ faces; he didn’t know why, Riley was dead . . . but Kestrel wasn’t a common name . . . how many could there really be? Suddenly, his eyes caught on a blond in the back corner sitting next to one of the brunets he’d seen earlier. Sam’s eyes widened. _That’s not possible! Riley’s dead! They told me he died!_ But there he was. Alive and well, a scar running down the side of his face from a gash Sam knew all too well had come from their car accident.

Noticing someone staring his way, Riley focused his eyes on the handsome black student . . . and went pale. He wondered if he should go back into counseling . . . he had started seeing Sam everywhere, it seemed. His hand came up to touch his scar, without thinking, and he couldn’t remove his eyes from the boy staring back at him.

TJ noticed Riley paling and turned a concerned frown to his friend; Pierce would punish him later for all the talking, no doubt, but he asked softly, “Riley? You okay?”

“Sam,” Riley whispered to his friend, knowing he’d told TJ several months ago about how he’d killed his best friend. “I’m hallucinating Sam.”

Steel blue eyes widened; TJ looked between the two young men, “No . . . you’re not. Unless we _both_ took some heavy ass drugs that I don’t remember. I see ‘em too.”

“But he _isn’t_ Sam,” Riley closed his eyes, dropping his hand to his lap and fighting the nausea that always came with the memory of how he’d endangered and killed his best friend and secret lover. He ignored TJ’s barb about the drugs, knowing that sober or stoned, Sam would ever be etched in Riley’s guilty memory.

“Sure looks like the guy you told me about,” TJ offered, looking between Sam and Riley.

Oblivious, apparently, to the whispered conversation in the back, or deliberately ignoring it for the moment, Pierce added. “And room eleven is Samuel and Steven.”

Riley went extremely pale, sea-green eyes widening and breath coming into soft pants of shock. The others didn’t dare touch him or draw attention to the seeming stress reaction.

Finally, Pierce continued. “Room twelve will be Thomas and Jonathan,” he smiled.

TJ looked around, pale eyes scanning the room to see if he could make out his new roommate. At the same time the brunet perused the crowd, the tall blond in blue looked around. His eyes met TJ’s and he let out a friendly-seeming smile.

Grinning, TJ gave the blond, who looked very much like Bucky’s old boyfriend, Steve, a small flirtatious wave. Riley passed out, slumping against TJ. “Shit!” TJ grabbed Riley and tried tapping the blond’s face in order to get him to wake up before Pierce noticed and sent Riley to the medical wing. “C’mon, Riley . . .”

Becca reached over and pinched Riley’s inner thigh, sending the boy a painful jolt that woke him right up. He covered his mouth with his hand and tried to sit up, dizzy and nauseous.

Sam had pushed out of his seat as soon as he witnessed Riley pass out in order to go help his best friend.

“Why are you standing?” Pierce called loudly, drawing all attention to the lone student. “We will go to our rooms soon, but I have not yet given the order.”

Tossing a worried glance to Riley, Sam shook his head and said, “Sorry,” and he sat back down with a slump.

Hand shooting in the air, unable to resist the urge to help someone in apparent need, Steve called out “Sir, you did say that as soon as we had our room assignments we were to go to them?” The tall, muscular blond met Pierce’s eyes with brave near-defiance.

Bucky stiffened at the sound of Steve’s voice, he craned his neck to look around the room. He knew that voice; sure it was a tad deeper but he knew that voice from anywhere. “Steve?” Bucky called out softly.

Becca turned fearful eyes on her brother. “Buck, shut up. Pierce will hear you!”

“Very true,” Pierce finally conceded with a smile. “Well as your classmate has pointed out, I _did_ say to report to your rooms once you had your assignments. Thus, collect your materials and go to your rooms. Now.” The last word fell to a lower tone, a direct order, and the group rose to their feet, a stocky shorter blond a beat or two behind everyone else.

Bucky shot to his feet but he didn’t turn to leave the auditorium. He needed to talk to Pierce about the room arrangements and find Steve. He pushed against the crowd to the front of the room where Pierce still stood.

Standing, Steve started organizing his lists and such into his binder, pulling out the map to find his room. True, Pierce had given the instructions, but the seventeen year old wanted to be sure he followed them. His future escape depended on his looking like the good little follower he pretended to be.

“Sir!” Bucky called as he reached the front of the room.

Stepping down from the podium, accompanied by Rumlow and Rollins, Pierce smiled fondly at Bucky. “Yes, James?”

“I was . . . I - - I had hoped I would be in the same room as Beck, sir,” Bucky admitted, eyeing the guards warily.

“Ah, well, with so many students, and with your similar . . . deviance . . . to Kestrel, it was determined wiser to place you together so you might both benefit from evening lessons together.” Pierce gathered his notes and signaled the two guards to shadow the new students.

“But, sir, isn’t there anything you can do? I - - I can take on more classes? Please, sir,” Bucky offered.

“Well, the other solution would be to have Beck join in evening lessons instead. It is always best to train roommates together, you recall,” Pierce smiled wider, letting his eyes wander towards Becca at the back, waiting for her brother.

Bucky’s eyes widened and he shook his head wildly, “No - - no. That won’t be necessary, sir. He’s doing well in his other classes.”

“Yes, he is very good at his private lessons. He is, perhaps, one of my finest pupils, in fact.” Pierce nodded and let his hand stroke over Bucky’s shoulder in a friendly looking gesture. “So we will keep our current room assignments, James, correct?”

Eyes falling to the floor, Bucky swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, as you are participating in the transition period, should you not be finding your room like the other students, James? Or are you . . . rebelling?” Pierce smiled like a cat with prey.

“No, sir.” Bucky looked down at Pierce’s hand still on his shoulder; he really wanted to slap it away, but didn’t dare defy the powerful man.

“Very good. Now, I will discuss lessons later, James. Find your room. And, see if Kestrel needs to visit Dr. Zola. He looks a bit faint.” Pierce dropped his hand, caressing down Bucky’s side and hip, as if inadvertently.

Shuddering, Bucky backed away and turned on his heel, not giving Pierce his normal response. He stormed to the back of the room where Riley, TJ and Becca stood waiting for him, Riley leaning against TJ slightly.

“Did you get it fixed?” Becca said, though her tone belied the hope of the words. She knew Pierce would bargain dirty for anything he gave away.

“No,” Bucky snapped and grabbed Becca’s arm, leading her out of the room as far away from Pierce as he could, leaving TJ to help with Riley. Bucky would not allow Pierce to touch her . . . he’d break every bone in the older man’s hand if Pierce laid a finger on his sister.

Right in front of the foursome, the tall, muscle-bound blond walked, glancing at his map and back at the hall of slowly moving students.

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks as he looked at the tall teen in front of him, “Steve?” He called out again. TJ, focused too much on Riley, collided against Bucky’s back with a soft grunt of displeasure.

The blond turned at his name and froze, eyes widening at the sight of Bucky, a friend he’d thought lost to him . . . not that he’d given up. All his attempts to runaway had been geared at going back to his lover and best friend. “Bucky?” He turned completely. His wrists bore the bruises from being in handcuffs for hours earlier that day.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Bucky asked, his eyes trailing down Steve’s new body, “You . . . got bigger?”

“Uh . . . I kept getting into fights and trying to run away, so my _dad_ had me enrolled here.” He frowned at the memory of the man he’d never met until that day a year ago the courts had called him. “Oh!” Steve looked over himself and flushed. “Growth spurt?” He looked up.

“Talking in the halls?” Rumlow drawled from nearby, looking almost eagerly at the foursome. TJ’s eyes widened at the sight of the guard, fingers immediately tapping nervously by his sides.

Bucky flinched at the sound of the brutal guard, “No, sir, we were just moving.” He began to guide Becca, Riley, TJ, and Steve down the hall away from the burly man.

“Yeah, don’t wanna have detention, James,” the man called back but let them go.

Steve walked obediently with his new-found old friends. “Are the twins here, too? I didn’t hear their names called.”

“No . . . they were put in foster care. Beck, TJ and I were sent here because of our . . . undesirable behavior,” Bucky explained quietly, he felt his gut clench at the mention of the twins. They hadn’t heard anything about their other siblings since they’d arrived there a year before.

Nodding, Steve lowered his voice even more. “Well, if we run away together, we might be able to get to them?”

Bucky stopped again and turned to look at Steve for a few moments before breaking out in a series of bitter laughs.

Riley shook his head. “You lost any freedom the moment you walked through that door, Steve, wasn’t it?”

With a snort, Steve shrugged. “I’ve spent more than half of the last year behind bars or in cuffs. I know losing freedom and it never lasts.”

“You haven’t been _here_ before, Steve. This place is hell . . . literal hell. There’s no getting out until you turn eighteen. Better get used to it,” Bucky explained as he began walking again.

“Or your guardian pulls you out,” Becca added bitterly.

The group got down the stairs and to a long corridor lined on both sides with rooms without any apparent doors. The rooms held bunk beds, a curtained off toilet area, and a simple set of shelves for all their belongings. Bars acted as the fourth wall of each _room_ , but they each had an opening where the door should be.

Steve turned wide eyes on Bucky, his mouth forming an _‘O’_ of surprise. “We’re in jail cells?” he whispered.

Bucky snorted and shook his head, “I told ya, Steve. There is no getting out.”

“This is transition for new students,” Becca explained, checking the numbers carved above the cells for her assigned number nine.

“Riley!?” Sam called out as he saw the foursome enter the space.

Riley looked up, shock crossing his face, his scar from the accident standing out on his pale face. “Sam?” he breathed, and stumbled, looking like he might pass out yet again. “God . . . I’m breaking up . . .”

Sam rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Riley, tightly, “I - - I thought you were dead . . . they told me you didn’t even make it to the hospital.”

Becca immediately grabbed the new student and tried to pull him off Riley. “No! You’ll get him detention! Don’t touch each other!” she growled desperately.

TJ grabbed the back of Sam’s collar and harshly tugged him off, sending the other teen stumbling back.

Without a peep of protest, Riley allowed them to yank Sam from his arms, but the blond let out a desperate whimper, sea-green eyes hungrily looking over Sam’s face and body.

Sam whirled on TJ and snarled, “Watch it, man! Don’t you fucking touch me!”

Becca continued to shake her head. “No, get in your cell, newbie! You don’t want detention!” She literally began to push Sam towards room eleven.

“I’d listen to him,” Bucky spoke up from besides Steve, his eyes hardening, the brunet grabbed Riley and ushered the shell-shocked blond into their shared room.

“Riley!” Sam called again, fighting against Becca’s grip.

Riley stood inside cell ten looking across the corridor at the odd numbered rooms, trying his best not to look at Sam . . . _his Sam had lived? His father had told him . . . his father had lied!_

Becca pushed Sam into cell number eleven then slipped into number nine. “You can talk after we’re counted, newbie. Just trust me!” She barely glanced at the unassuming boy she’d been assigned with.

“Fuck!” Sam swore, and whirled around, completely overwhelmed by the fact that Riley was alive.

Steve checked the number then walked into the cell that Sam stood in, blocking the open doorway effectively. “You got separated from a friend, too?” he asked softly.

“I thought he was dead!” Sam whispered harshly, eyes blazing.

As the last student walked into the assigned cell, Rollins called out, “step away from the doors or you’ll lose a limb!” After only a breath or two to give the kids a chance to obey, the man pulled a lever and the cells doors dropped down from the ceiling with an ominous clang, effectively sealing the children in their cells. “See ya for detention, kiddos,” Rollins called and walked out, Rumlow slamming his fist on the bars as he followed his fellow guard.

Bucky groaned and sank on the bed, throwing his head into his hands.

Once the guards disappeared and no other staff made an appearance, Riley threw himself against the bars and called out, desperately, “Sam? Sam, tell me you’re really there. I’m not just imaging you again?”

Hurrying over to grip the bars and look over at his lover, Sam shook his head, “I’m real, Riley. I’m right here.”

A sob ripped from the blond and he pressed his face against the bars, his body trembling. “My . . . father . . . said . . .”

“Riley!” Bucky snapped quietly at the loud sob, “Quiet! You’ll get Rollins or Rumlow down here again . . . I don’t want detention.”

The blond bit his own lip, hard, drawing blood but cutting off the noise immediately. He sank to the floor, leaning against the bars, miserable sea-green eyes watching the teen in the cell across from him . . . the boy he’d thought he’d slaughtered in one reckless moment.

“Leave him the fuck alone, man!” Sam smacked against the bars in front of him, making a loud clanking noise.

“Don’t talk to him like that!” TJ seethed, glaring at the dark-skinned teen in the room across the hall.

“Stop it!” Becca hissed from the cell next door to Sam and Steve’s cell. “Any loud noise will bring them back. And you don’t want detention. Pietro and Clinton already have to suffer through that.”

“Steve! Get him to shut the fuck up!” Bucky snapped harshly, keeping his voice low, turning to look over at Steve through the cell doors.

Nodding, following Bucky’s orders as he always had back home, the tall blond put an arm in front of Sam and pulled him forcefully away from the bars, but let him look out at the others. He whispered in his roommate's ear, “they’ve been here a year, Sam. They know what they’re talking about. If Buck says you don’t want this punishment, you _don’t_ want it.”

“He can’t fucking talk to him like that! I’ll kick his ass if he continues to speak to Riley like that!” Sam snarled, glaring at the brunet who’d thrown his head into his hands again, looking defeated. 

Steve looked down at the leaner teen. “Maybe he’s reminding his roommate that _he_ doesn’t want to be punished, either? Especially since he’s in that state?” His deep baritone held reason.

Sam swore under his breath and sank down onto the lower bunk, his shoulders tensed and hands clutched into fists.

Riley still sat on the cement floor, leaning into the bars, watching Sam’s every move. After a very long moment, he released his lip, bloodied from his bite. “Sam?” he called, softly this time. “I didn’t kill you?”

Sam looked up and over at his old lover, “No, Riley . . . you didn’t kill me. I’m right here.”

Steve winced at the other blond’s question. Softly he said to Sam, “sounds like he might need some counseling.”

Bucky snorted, barely catching onto Steve’s words, “Do not . . . under any circumstances, go to the doctor,” he warned, loud enough so that the few rooms conjoining his cell heard him.

Finally determining that Riley and Sam would stay quiet and not draw the wrath of their guards down on them, Becca turned and picked up the folded school uniform on the bottom bunk. She offered it to her new roommate. “Bruce, right? This is your’s.”

Taking the uniform with a small, sheepish smile, Bruce nodded, “Beck, right? That’s a strange name . . . is it short for something?”

“Yeah - - Beck. Do you want bottom or top?” She frowned and didn’t answer the other question right off. Finally, she said, “Not really. Beck is just something I’ve been called by my brothers all my life. Just like we called James _‘Bucky’_.”

“Bucky? That your scary lookin’ brother? Seems intense.” Bruce commented quietly.

“No, the scary one is TJ. Bucky’s the pet of Pierce.” Beck looked at the quiet teen with her, crossing her arms. “Not a position you aspire to, might I add.”

“I can hear you, you know?” Bucky called out softly, with a near groan. TJ stayed silent, not commenting on being called the _scary_ brother.

Bruce flushed and ducked his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Sorry? Sometimes my mouth just says the first thing that comes to mind . . . no filter?”

With a smirk, she nodded. “Yeah, I had the same problem when I first got here. Learned real quick not to do that any more.” Gesturing to the curtained area for their toilet, she said “you’ll wanna get changed. You can go in there or drop ‘em here. Your choice.” With that Becca turned and climbed up on the top bunk, since he hadn’t answered _that_ question earlier.

Blushing again, Bruce shuffled over to the curtained area and quickly changed into the required uniform. Stepping out of the closed off area, he asked, “So how long have you and your brothers been here? I take it you came together?”

“Yeah, we’ve been here a year now. I’m in for assault on a cop. You?” Becca leaned over the top of the bunk to look down at her roommate. He wasn’t bad looking in the uniform. Frowning fiercely, she flung herself back into her bunk, pushing the unwelcome thought from her mind.

“Attempted murder,” Bruce answered quickly, eyes falling to the floor and fists clenching tightly.

“Ah, did he deserve it?” Becca asked from her back on the bunk, not daring to look at the guy until she got her wayward, confusing reaction under firm control.

“Most people don’t ask that,” he commented looking up at Beck with confused eyes.

Reluctantly, but wanting to see his eyes again, Becca rolled to lean over her bed, determinedly keeping her eyes on Bruce’s gentle looking face. “I’m not most people?”

Nodding, Bruce took a deep breath, “He was beating my mom . . . he was my step father - - and I thought he was going to kill her.”

“So, deserved a good beating,” Becca answered, her eyes shooting across to her brothers then back to Bruce.

Smiling, a little self-consciously, Bruce nodded, “Yeah . . . he did. Guy was a real jerk.”

Steve, next door, snorted in apparent amusement. He practically whispered, “not all jerks need a beating . . . some just need their ass handled.” He glanced sideways towards Bucky, blue eyes dancing.

Bucky frowned, not at all his usual reaction to Steve’s playful banter. He shook his head and looked away.

The smirk slipped at Bucky’s reaction. Wondering what had happened . . . wondering if Bucky had decided he no longer wanted to share that kind of . . . stuff with angry little Stevie Rogers, the tall blond turned and began reading through his rule binder, noting that it stated that students must always be in uniform unless in certain conditions, such as physical education, swimming, or sleeping. Looking at the bunks, Steve noted the two uniforms, one larger than the other. He reached over and picked up the bigger outfit. “Sam? Says we have to be in uniform,” he said, keeping his back to the other side of the hall as he began undressing.

Bucky turned back and trailed Steve’s body as the blond began to strip. The muscles on his back rippled under the movement and the brunet felt a familiar burn creeping into his gut. He had to force himself to look away; Rollins and Rumlow would have a field day with him if they saw that he’d gotten an erection.

Looking over the uniform, Steve slid the trousers over his well-defined legs, pleased to finally find clothes that fit him. He slipped on the shirt and buttoned it, tucking the tails in as he fastened the zipper and belting the trousers over his too lean waist. He put the jacket on and knew that the school had used his measurements to precisely create this outfit; more often than not, people assumed his broad chest and thin waist belonged to two different guys and gave him ill-fitting clothing. He wondered if he’d be allowed to continue his weight training.

Sam eyed the uniform Steve wore with a look of contempt mixed with disgust. “Man, this is gonna suck.” However, he did stand up and begin stripping off his civilian clothes to put on the uniform.

Peter turned to eye the bunks, and climbed onto the top to claim it, letting his injured roommate have the easier to reach bottom. He picked up the uniform folded neatly on his pillow and eyed the obviously too large jacket. “Should we get dressed?”

“Yeah. If the old guys are in monkey suits, means we probably should be, too,” Wade grumbled and grabbed his own uniform, dropping his pants right there to start changing. The other kids had seen his healing scars so what was there to hide? “Hey, Petey, why you in here anyway?” Wade growled low as he slid one leg into the trousers.

Blinking, Peter looked down from his bunk, hands freezing on the button down shirt he wore. “I . . . my Uncle Ben was shot . . . and I saw it happen.” His voice sounded small.

WIth a disgusted snort, Wade said, “that’s stupid. The witness doesn’t get locked up, the shooter does.”

Letting out a whimper, Peter didn’t argue or agree. He softly asked, “want me to carry your books? I’m stronger than i look and you won’t have to struggle . . .”

Shaking his head, looking disgusted, Wade growled out, “I don’t need help. Practically healed now. Don’t know why that old fuck said I did.”

“Shut it!” TJ snapped, “They record everything . . . he’ll hear.” The brunet seemed uncaring about the consequences that could come with warning the other students about the surveillance, something TJ had learned about the _hard_ way.

Becca sighed. She said, “he said those things about Wade because he wanted to humiliate him. He likes power.”

Finally, TJ’s silent roommate, the six foot, lean blond that had been last to enter the school, turned and asked softly, “are we punished for talking quietly or for insulting the staff?” His t-shirt read _‘I’m here. What are your other two wishes?’_

“Depends on the mood they’re in,” TJ answered honestly; he didn’t bother to try and whisper. TJ appeared uncaring about any punishment he might receive for being overheard. He looked over at his roommate and his eyebrows shot up in a look of surprise, “damn, you related to a Steve Rogers by any chance?”

“Yup,” the teen answered. “My cousin by way of our moms. I’m Johnny Storm.” He held out his hand. “I’m in for auto theft and chopping.”

“Ya know, you don’t gotta lead with the reason you were sent to this hellhole,” TJ teased, shaking the other teen’s hand.

With a grin and a shrug, Johnny teased back, “well, didn’t want you to get insomnia, wondering if I’m in for murder or something _dangerous_.”

“If you were in for something like murder, I’d simply ask you to do me a favor,” TJ said, dropping his hand and running the shaky limb through his mussed brown curls.

“Well, if I’m switching from car parts to bodies, I might have to start charging big. You know, bigger prices for bigger targets. Who you got in mind?” Johnny grinned.

“Got several people,” TJ answered, letting his eyes trail down Johnny’s body, appreciating the athletic build.

The once over hadn’t been lost on the blond and he looked mildly surprised then amused. Leaning in, whispering, “well, you _are_ pretty.”

“Gonna give me a discount?” TJ purred right back, “I’ll make it worth your wile.”

“I only give discounts to family and lovers, baby,” Johnny chuckled, reaching out a hand to brush TJ’s hair from his pale eyes.

Humming softly, uncaring about the rules forbidding physical contact between students, TJ leaned into the touch, “that can be arranged.”

“How? Gonna adopt me?” Johnny leaned in close only to freeze and snap his head around when Becca cleared her throat pointedly, very loudly, glaring at her brother and his roommate.

“Spoilsport,” TJ grumbled unhappily, meeting his sister’s glare with one of his own.

Steve turned from the scene of the Barnes siblings staring off to look at Bucky across the corridor then looked towards the wall connecting his cell with Becca’s. He wanted to ask about the fact that Becca was disguised as a boy still, but figured they had their reasons for continuing the misunderstanding from a year ago. “Can we do a whisper campaign? Let the others know down the line to get in uniform, that kind of thing? The girls were already in uniform when they showed up, but none of the guys were.”

Bucky shrugged, “Knock yourself out.”

A soft frown crossed Steve’s face at the answer. His Bucky had always been carefree, fun, and caring . . . very caring. He’d have jumped at helping the others a year ago. Being in this place must’ve hardened him like it was rumored jail did to inmates. The blond merely shook his head, sinking onto the floor for lack of a place to sit other than the bottom bunk near Sam. “Never mind,” he murmured.

Bucky’s eyes snapped over to Steve’s dejected appearance and he sighed. Rising to his feet, Bucky called out in a louder voice, “Newbies! Get dressed! Or you’ll get detention!”

The sound of footsteps sounded as if on cue, Rumlow and Rollins strolling down the corridor with equally wide grins. “Making a lot of noise in here, boys. Who’s been catcalling?”

“I did,” Steve immediately stood, knowing Bucky had called out due to _his_ idea. If anyone deserved detention for that, Steve would take it.

“It was me, sirs,” Bucky admitted, glaring at Steve, “I was warning the new students about the consequences of not being dressed on time.”

“So,” Rollins grinned. “One of you must be lying. We only heard one voice, right Brock?”

Brock turned a menacing smile to Bucky, stepping closer to the cell as he eyed the younger man, “That’s right . . . and it did sound so much like _our Bucky_ . . . didn’t it, Jack?”

“Which means,” Rollins supplied, “the new kid was lying.” He made his way to Steve and Sam’s cell.

“Leave him alone!” Bucky snapped; as soon as the words had left his mouth, his eyes widened in shock at his own outburst.

“Oh, Bucky Boy’s feeling protective. Warning them to be dressed. Wanting us not to punish a liar.” Rollins turned to stare hard at Bucky. “Might hafta tell Mr. Pierce what’s going on.”

“Yeah, definitely report the deviant behavior . . . but what to do now? We can’t let him set _such_ a bad example. Deviance needs to be punished.”

“And we can’t let a liar get away with it,” Rollins added, licking his lips as he turned to look over the muscular blond.

Maybe it was because Bucky still saw the scrawny kid he’d grown up with, or maybe it was because the thought of Steve being punished caused his heart to hurt . . . but Bucky shot out his fist and hit Rumlow’s jaw . . . only grazing it, really.

“Son of a bitch!” Rumlow growled and rubbed his jaw.

Rollins looked surprised at the action and strode the three steps it took to get to the other side of the corridor. He reached through the bars and grabbed the still seated Riley by the throat, hefting him to his feet. “Did you just hit a staff member, Bucky?” he growled.

“Leave him alone! It was me!” Bucky shouted desperately, running over to try and pry Rollins’ hands away from the rapidly paling, eyes bulging, not breathing well boy. “Stop it!”

“ _What_ is happening!”


	3. Pierce's Private Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Beatings, Non-consensual sex, Voyeurism, Continual Mental Trauma**

Pierce’s voice echoed down the corridor, the acoustics making it sound louder than the man had actually spoken. Immediately, Rollins let Riley drop, gasping, to the floor. Alexander Pierce stopped before the end cells, a frown on his face at the disheveled state of the students in cell ten. “James, remove your hands from that staff member,” Pierce instructed coldly.

Immediately dropping Rollin’s hands, Bucky looked at Pierce with wide, fearful eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Explain, Samuel, what just occurred,” Pierce suddenly turned to the boy across from the questionable cell.

“James was just telling the new students to get dressed on time . . . I - - I guess it was loud because they,” Sam pointed at Rumlow and Rollins, “came down and started asking who was yelling.” Sam’s eyes flickered over to Steve and then back to Pierce, “Steve . . . told them that he was the one who yelled . . . but James told them he did it. Then James hit,” Sam motioned to Rumlow, “him.” Then Sam pointed to Rollins, “he started choking Riley, sir.”

“Riley?” Pierce asked with a small frown.

“Kestrel,” Sam amended.

“Yes, Kestrel, James’ roommate.” Pierce nodded. “So, what I see is that we have several breaches of the rules. Most everyone in this set of rooms are not in uniform. They will be punished for that. Steven lied. Punishment for the pair of you.” He looked at Sam. “James struck a staff member, which is a very serious offense. They will be punished accordingly. And you chose to be . . . less friendly than we encourage, Samuel, to your classmate Kestrel. We use our first names here. We are all friends. Thus, for your rudeness, you and Steven will receive a second punishment.” He nodded. “However, aside from being a bit too loud, I _did_ tell James to guide his fellow students, so it was by my directive when he shouted to be dressed. That will be forgiven this time, because it is an understandable mistake.” Pierce smiled benevolently, as if that one concession meant the world.

Turning to the two guards, Pierce stated, “please note that room eleven is on punishment for lying and rudeness. Room ten I will deal with, as the attack is too severe an offense for mere detention. And the following rooms are on punishment for being out of uniform: twelve, seven, six, five, four, and three. You may bring them out for punishment as you see fit, gentlemen.”

Pierce turned back to Bucky and Riley. “And now. You two will accompany me to my private classroom. I believe you need a lesson in discipline immediately.”

The door clanked open at Rollin’s flick of a smaller switch than the main one, the bars sliding back up into the ceiling.

“Please . . . just me. Kestrel didn’t do anything, sir, please. I hit Rumlow,” Bucky begged, tone desperate.

“Ah, but we are teammates here, James. Did you forget? We share our triumphs and our tribulations. Unless you wish to choose another student to share your punishment in place of Kestrel?” Pierce offered a predatory smile.

Bucky’s eyes widened and he shook his head, “No, sir.”

“Well, if you will not name one, should I see if one will volunteer, perhaps?” Pierce watched Bucky steadily.

Bucky knew Steve would volunteer; he couldn’t let that happen.

“Sir? I can take my punishment,” Riley rasped out from the floor. “I want to share James’ punishment.”

Bucky closed his eyes and hung his head, not daring to look across the hall at Steve or Sam.

“Very good, Kestrel. Learn well, students, by Kestrel’s noble behavior. You will do well to emulate him. Here our roommates are our other halves. We share our triumphs and tribulations . . our rewards and our punishments.” Pierce nodded. “James, Kestrel, please come with me.” He gestured gracefully for the teens to proceed him down the hall.

Bucky stepped out, head still down, and began walking down the long corridor. TJ watched his twin with a worried expression, his fingers beginning that rhythmic tapping that he often did when he was nervous.

Riley followed his roommate without word, head bowed as much as Bucky’s. He still tried to regain his breath, willing his throat to stop aching, but he would help Bucky protect the large blond he used to describe as _‘scrawny but pretty.’_

Behind the boys walked Pierce, smiling at each student he passed. He stopped at the corridor entrance and turned around. “Thomas, you are fidgeting again. Add that to what needs correcting in the behavior of room twelve, men. Excessive fidgeting.”

He turned and walked around the corner. Once they left that corridor, Pierce took the lead and brought the boys up three flights of steps, to the private rooms on the fourth floor . . . where the boys had been living only the day before. “So, James, do you have anything to say concerning your attack on Mr. Rumlow? Do you have a reason for this unexpected behavior?”

“I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again,” Bucky muttered, eyes downcast, knowing he couldn’t look up at Pierce.

“So, no reason? Just felt like hitting the man who protects you?” Pierce looked behind him at the lean, beautiful brunet.

Bucky couldn’t tell Pierce he did it to protect Steve . . . that he and Steve used to be boyfriends . . . that would only hurt Steve. “No, sir . . . no reason.”

“Ah, I understand completely, James,” Pierce said as if he truly did. He opened the door to his private suite at the end of the long hall of private rooms. With a smile for the pair of teens, he gestured them into the suite.

With a small whimper, Bucky stepped into the suite, shooting a quick apologetic glance to his friend.

Riley followed Bucky in, giving the brunet a reassuring nod before he stopped well inside the tastefully decorated sitting room.

Pierce walked in and shut the door behind him. He turned, locking the door, and turned once more, smiling at the boys. “You were distraught by being demoted, weren’t you James? You wanted my attention . . . you felt that by putting you back in transition, I might not continue with our private time.” The man walked over to Bucky and tilted his head up with one finger, smiling into those blue-grey eyes.

Bucky wanted to cry, wanted to hit the man in front of him, instead he simply nodded, “yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“That’s alright, James. I understand completely. But you must learn not to hurt the staff. That is not the way to get my attention. Next time, you will be severely disciplined. This time, I will grant you leniency.” He stroked the finger across Bucky’s cheek then lips.

“Th - - Thank you, sir.” Bucky mumbled. His eyes fell; he didn’t want to look at Pierce . . . his stomach churned at the sight of the older man so close.

“So, as a punishment, you will not be allowed to love me this lesson.” Pierce let the boy go and opened the bedroom door. “Instead, you will show me what you boys recall from our last lesson. You will practice on each other and I will correct you if you are wrong.”

Bucky looked over at Riley with wide eyes.

Riley had paled and he licked his swollen bloody lip. They’d never been permitted or encouraged to touch another student; it was one of the firmest rules. _Would Pierce tell them to break a rule then punish them worse if they obeyed?_ Riley glanced at Bucky.

“Well, boys, did you understand me?” Pierce smiled. After a moment, he added, “I understand, James, that Kestrel is not as young as you prefer, but our lessons have been geared at you working with a more appropriate age group. Last year you were doing well, in fact, until you . . . were injured. It is time you began to earn your position again, so we will once more allow you to . . . love another. You may start with your roommate for practice.”

Bucky’s cheeks flamed in mortification as he shuffled toward the bed, crawling onto the soft surface with shaky limbs, his left arm aching under the weight.

Pierce let out a sigh. “James? Do we go to bed in our uniform?” The older man reached over and slapped Riley across the scarred cheek, drawing a shocked cry from the blond. “Now come do this correctly, James.”

Scrambling off the bed, Bucky stepped next to Pierce and began to loosen his tie.

“Very good. Kestrel, you need to be appropriately attired, as well, for the lesson. I shall sit over here and observe.” Pierce moved over to a large chair set up to watch the bed. He sank to the surface and began to watch the boys with intent eyes.

Flushing, Riley pulled off his jacket obediently and draped it over the second chair in the room. He reached to loosen his own tie, glancing at Bucky as he did so.

Bucky closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He stripped off his jacket and began unbuttoning the white dress shirt. He swallowed hard as he pulled the clothes covering his torso off, folding them and setting the items on the chest at the foot of the bed.

Still with his eyes on Bucky, Riley mimicked the other teen, unbuttoning and removing his shirt, placing that and the tie carefully on the chair. He reached for his belt and unfastened it, finally looking away from the brunet, eyes on the floor.

Opening his eyes, Bucky looked over at Pierce, trying to get all the attention on him and off Riley. The brunet slowly unfastened his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Maybe if he could get Pierce excited enough, he’d let Riley go.

With a smile of delight, Pierce watched the boys, his eyes often flicking to the pretty brunet. His eyes roved the boy’s lean form appreciatively.

Biting his lip suggestively, Bucky slid out of his briefs, never taking his eyes off the older man.

“Beautiful, James. Your body is beautiful.” He signaled the seventeen year old brunet to approach him, effectively ignoring the blond as Riley slid out of his trousers, flushing.

Swaying his hips, thinking that his plan may be working, Bucky made his way over to Pierce.

Settling his hands on Bucky’s hips, his eyes at the level of the boy’s manhood, Pierce laughed softly. “You are a wanton man, aren’t you, James?” He shook his head, caressing Bucky’s hips and buttocks. Finally, he leaned back as he let go. “Now aren’t you glad I didn’t switch your brother into your room after all?” He smacked Bucky’s butt and gestured towards Riley. “Go ahead. Show me what you boys have learned.”

Bucky visibly shuddered; his plan hadn’t worked . . . he didn’t want to do this. The brunet turned to look at Riley and then back at Pierce.

Riley stood, nude, by the bed. He held himself in his hand, stroking lightly, trying to bring himself to erection. It wasn’t that Bucky was unattractive, far from it. The guy was practically a God. But Riley had never felt sexually attracted to his friend. The only way he’d participated in the private lessons so far was if he’d been drugged, which he despised.

Realizing it was pointless to try and change Pierce’s mind, Bucky walked over to Riley and wrapped his fingers around the blond’s near flaccid member. “C’mon, Kestrel . . .” the brunet breathed against his friend’s neck, licking the sensitive flesh.

Riley’s head dropped back, his eyes closing, enjoying the sensation of Bucky’s touch. He let out a sigh at the sensation, even if his body refused to respond. Keeping his eyes closed, Riley reached out and stroked his hands carefully down Bucky’s chest, one hand coming to rest just above his crotch.

“That’s it,” Bucky cooed, nipping at Riley’s earlobe, “Would my mouth be better?” He asked in a whisper.

Whispering softly, Riley responded, his mouth thankfully hidden from Pierce’s watchful gaze by Bucky’s form, “when I was with Sam, I was always the one on top.” He opened sea-green eyes to look up at Bucky. “Here I’m always on bottom, and I hate it, Buck. They hurt me.”

“Be on top then,” Bucky breathed, covering most of Riley’s body with his own, effectively hiding him from Pierce’s gaze.

“You don’t mind?” Riley stroked Bucky’s chest, the other hand caressing in soft circles across that low place right before his member. “I’ll be careful . . . try not to hurt ya.”

“I know,” Bucky nodded and moved to crawl onto the bed, positioning himself for his friend. Bucky’s left arm trembled under his weight; he was afraid it might give out again.

Riley followed Bucky’s lead, crawling into the luxurious bed and pushing the blankets down to expose the silky sheets. “I know you said you were always top with Steve,” he continued whispering.

“I’m used to bottom, now. It’s okay . . . do whatever you want.” Bucky hung his head and prepared himself, trying to force his body to relax . . . if he couldn’t relax this would hurt a lot.

Nodding, Riley finally reached around and stroked Bucky’s manhood, weighing him in one slender hand as he traced the veins and the slight curve of Bucky. “Do you wanna lay on your back, instead? I know I’m not your Steve, but I’m a small blond?”

Bucky knew he wouldn’t be able to support himself once Riley started thrusting into him, his left arm still too weak. Nodding, the brunet flipped himself over and looked up at Riley. If he squinted a little and cocked his head to the right . . . Riley did look a little like Steve.

“Close your eyes,” Riley instructed, stroking Bucky’s manhood. “I’ll try to be quiet for you.” Then, the blond slid down the other boy’s body and took the brunet’s shaft into his mouth about halfway.

Hands clutching the sheets below him, Bucky moaned and lifted his hips off the bed. He tried to imagine that Pierce didn’t sit nearby, watching, and that it was Steve’s mouth around him . . . that he was back in the apartment with his Stevie.

Riley began to pull his head back, tongue swirling around the shaft in his mouth, then thrust down on Bucky further, taking a little more into his throat. It had been too long, he couldn’t fully take that large tool, but he could try his best to make Bucky feel good . . . no matter how much they tried to help each other, Pierce was forcing the boys to rape one another when all was said and done, because neither really wanted this.

“It’s okay, Kestrel . . . he won’t be patient for much longer.” Bucky warned, his tone breathless and sweat making strands of hair stick to his forehead.

Pulling his mouth off Bucky with an obscene pop, Riley moved up so he could nudge his own member against Bucky’s lips. “He didn’t give us oil or anything,” the blond explained softly.

Bucky opened his mouth and let Riley slide his erection down his throat; obviously he’d had much more practice during his year with Pierce.

After fucking Bucky’s mouth for a few minutes, making sure his erection was coated well with saliva, Riley pulled out and slid down Bucky’s body. Pierce had always forbidden the use of fingering in the lessons, saying that was disgusting. It was one of the reasons sex hurt during these lessons. Carefully, Riley lined himself up with Bucky’s passage, wincing at the mere idea of doing this without preparing him, like he would have for Sam so long ago. “Relax, Baby,” he said, without thinking about the endearment.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky nodded, but it didn’t matter how many breaths he took . . . when Riley began to press into him, Bucky let out a gasp of pain and grimaced.

From Pierce’s corner came a small sound like a similar gasp, but not necessarily of pain.

Wincing in synch with Bucky, his member hurting at the overly tight passage, Riley continued to try to work himself into Bucky. The teen didn’t have a particularly wide girth, though he had a nice length, but he was still bigger than most things Bucky must have back there. “Just breath for me, Buck.”

Groaning, Bucky squirmed and fought the urge to pull away. “H- - hurts.” He breathed; it wasn’t loud enough for Pierce to hear, but it could reach Riley’s ears.

Stopping, Riley nodded. He reached down and began to stroke Bucky’s shaft, using his own body to block the sight from the older man. “I’m sorry, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Another soft sound came from Pierce’s corner.

Bucky felt like he was getting ripped in half . . . usually Pierce would allow some lube or oil . . . or _something_ to make this a little easier. He was just thankful it was him feeling this and not Riley. Bucky knew he’d start tearing soon, and that almost came as a morbid relief . . . the blood would act as the lube he desperately needed.

Taking a slow breath, Riley began easing back out of Bucky’s ass. “Want me to maybe try to just go shallow?”

“H - - he won’t . . . like that,” Bucky groaned, “Just go, Kestrel . . . I can handle it.” As if to prove his point he thrust upward.

“You’re too tight,” Riley confessed. “It hurts . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it up if I can’t stretch you out, Buck.”

“Try pushing in all the way . . . “

“That’ll tear you wide, Bucky, you know that!” Riley hissed, leaning over and placing kisses on Bucky’s throat to cover their conversation. He began pushing slightly into the other boy, achieving the former inch with some effort.

Bucky looked up at the ceiling, “I know. That’ll give us what we need. The sooner you do it . . . the sooner it can be over.”

Another sound came from Pierce as Riley pulled back out once more.

“Do it, Kestrel.” Bucky nodded and smiled softly, “It’s okay.”

Riley shook his head, his normally withdrawn, almost dead attitude lost completely since Sam’s return. The real Riley appeared to have a soft heart and a determination to rival Steve’s. “No, Buck. Cause you won’t heal before the next lesson, so you’ll just stay ripped the entire term.” Looking up, Riley opened his mouth, but no sound came out as he stared at Pierce. His eyes had widened almost too big to imagine.

“Dammit,” Bucky hissed, “He won’t let us go . . . just do it. Please?” The brunet looked up at Riley with wide eyes, “You need to do it, Kestrel.”

“Uh,” Riley almost whimpered. “Buck?” Riley held his hips still, still staring at the headmaster in the corner chair.

“What?’ Bucky asked, “What’s wrong?” He pushed up on his forearms.

“Pierce,” Riley hissed, balancing his hands on either side of Bucky, seeming uncertain.

Bucky’s eyes widened at the sight of the older man masterbating on the chair, eyes closed . . . two fingers up his own passage. Bucky looked up at Riley, unsure what to do.

“He’s . . . using . . .” Riley looked down at Bucky below him.

“Fingers . . . fucking son of a bitch.” Bucky growled low, not wanting to alert the headmaster that they were watching him.

Keeping his erection close to Bucky’s passage, Riley kept his eyes on Pierce. He slid two fingers into his mouth as he watched then reached down between them to slip one finger carefully into Bucky’s entrance, sliding it in all the way in one move, stroking over his prostate. He never removed his eyes from Pierce.

Throwing his head back at the sensation, Bucky moaned and jutted his hips upward.

More quickly than he’d prefer, Riley began to stroke in and out of Bucky, moving his finger in widening circles to try to stretch him out, still caressing over the other boy’s prostate as he worked him. The blond had no real desire to watch the older man masturbating, but he kept his eyes locked on the sight. As long as Pierce had his eyes closed, was distracted, Riley could prep Bucky.

“Okay . . . okay - - you can add another one . . . we might not have a whole lot of time to do this.” Bucky moaned softly, he looked up at Riley and nodded encouragingly.

With a nod, a soft smile flitting across his face, Riley slid his finger from Bucky and positioned both wet fingers against his puckered entrance. Slowly, he slid in straight and true, directly across his prostate. After only a breath or two, the blond began to move them in and out, scissoring carefully as he worked Bucky’s prostate.

“Riley . . . fuck - -” Bucky breathed, forgetting to use Riley’s given name as the blond stroked over his prostate.

Wrapping his other hand around Bucky’s member, Riley began stroking in time with his fingers, murmuring softly, “if you cum, I can use it as lube, baby . . . tell me how to make you cum.” Riley slid both fingers from Bucky then spit on his fingers and caressed three against the brunet’s hole, frowning as Pierce’s gasps came more erratically, signaling that he was nearing release.

Hearing the familiar sounds of Pierce’s near climax, Bucky whispered quickly, “Rub the slit and keep stroking the prostate.”

With one nod, Riley moved his fingers up to caress and fondle Buck’s cockhead, concentrating on his slit, while the other hand worked three fingers into Bucky’s warm heat, stroking over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Gasping, breathless from the sensation, Bucky arched off the bed and within a few moments he came into Riley’s hand.

Without missing a beat, Riley rubbed as much of the cum onto his own member, caressing the hot fluid over his aching flesh. Removing his fingers, Riley whispered, “breathe, baby,” and lined himself up. Just as Pierce’s eyes opened wide as he called out his orgasm, Riley clenched his teeth and pushed into Bucky, sliding as deep as he could with that one stroke, fortunately pounding over Bucky’s prostate in the process.

Crying out slightly, both from pleasure and pain, Bucky raised his hips to meet with Riley’s thrust expertly. “Go on . . . I’m okay,” Bucky reassured his friend.

“God, so tight . . . you’re so hot, Buck,” Riley breathed but obeyed, sliding out smoothly then pushing back in, balls deep, with a low groan. He began to find a rhythm.

Nearby, Pierce’s harsh breathing was coming under control and he obviously began to watch the teenagers once more.

Pushing down to meet Riley’s rhythm, Bucky clamped his eyes shut and tried to imagine it was Steve, that he wasn’t being raped by one of his only friends, that the man that controlled his every move wasn’t watching nearby.

Picking up a quicker speed, Riley began nibbling at Bucky’s neck, his hand caressing over the brunet’s abdomen as he thrust in and out. His balls ached and his member throbbed, and Riley whispered against the salty flesh “gonna cum, Baby.”

Bucky nodded and moaned again as Riley brushed past his prostate, “C’mon, Riley . . . cum for me.”

Groaning, Riley lost his rhythm. His hips stuttered as he thrust hard once, twice, a third time before he threw his head back and keened, unloading spray after spray of hot seed deep in Bucky’s ass. “Bucky,” he moaned as he came down from his orgasm, hips still thrusting softly, gently, still semi-erect as he caressed in and out of Bucky’s passage. “God, Buck,” he murmured and kissed the brunet’s neck.

Bucky nodded and reached over with his aching left arm and ran his fingers down Riley’s spine. Even with Riley’s prep, Bucky’s passage ached . . . but he’d take the dull throbbing for a few days over a searing tear that would’ve lasted months any day.

Pierce stood up, totally collected and put together, as if he’d never been fondling and fingering himself or covered in hot semen. “Enough, Kestrel. Remove yourself from James. It is time to switch places.”

Riley froze, eyes widening. He pulled off of Bucky and rolled to his side, drawing a fearful breath.

“No . . . no . . . sir, please.” Bucky pleaded, “I - - I’ll go again . . . I’ll do whatever. Please, sir.”

“You are a total wanton, James,” Pierce sounded amused.

Bucky scrambled to kneel by Pierce’s feet, ignoring his aching body and passage. He couldn’t let Riley get hurt . . . they wouldn’t get so lucky a second time. Looking up at Pierce from under his eyelashes, Bucky pleaded softly, “Please, sir. I know I’ve been a bad boy . . . let me make it up to you, sir. Please?”

Studying Bucky’s face and body, flushed, sweaty, and covered in cum, Pierce slowly nodded. “You truly want to feel a man deep in you, don’t you, James? Have you begun to appreciate the difference between little boys and men?”

“Yes, sir. You’re a man and you make me feel good. Please, sir.” Bucky bowed his head, mortified by the words that left his own mouth.

With an affectionate chuckle, Pierce reached down and stroked Bucky’s soft hair. “No. I think you want it too much, James. You need to learn restraint. You both will wash up in the showers then report back to your room. The beatings for those who deserve detention should be over by now, except for perhaps the second detentions for room twelve and eleven.” Pierce let go of Bucky and looked over Riley, still on the bed. “Kestrel, you look like a whore. Clean yourself and go back to your room.” Pierce’s voice didn’t sound as affectionate for the blond.

“Yes, sir,” Riley answered and watched warily as Pierce left the bedroom.

Bucky sagged in relief as Pierce left the room, his ass ached and it would’ve really hurt to be forced to take Pierce after that. Shakily, Bucky rose to his feet and turned to help Riley off the bed.

Slipping an arm around Bucky’s waist, Riley proved stronger than he looked. He looked up at the taller teen and said, “sounds like he left the suite completely. Did he mean we could use his shower or that we had to carry our uniforms down to communal?”

Shaking his head, Bucky said, “I have no idea . . . I - - I don’t think he wants us walking around naked.” The brunet craned his neck to see if he saw any blood running down the back of his thighs.

Nodding, Riley turned to guide Bucky to a closed door. He reached out and opened the door, revealing a cool room tiled in yellow and gold. Looking at his friend, he frowned and looked behind Bucky. “What’s the matter? Did I hurt you bad?” He looked unhappy at the prospect.

“No . . . I don’t think so. The stretching helped a lot. I was just checking for blood . . . I - - I usually bleed a little after my lessons.” Bucky offered.

“I bleed a lot and can’t do another for a week, minimum,” Riley confided. He helped Bucky to the shower and began turning on the water and testing it.

“I bled a lot my first few months, too. It’ll . . . start to hurt less after a little time.” Bucky stepped into the shower.

Riley followed and shook his head. “Back when I thought I’d killed Sam,” he said under cover of the water, “I thought I deserved this. But . . . Bucky, does anyone deserve to be ripped open again and again . . . or to be raped by friends?” He flushed.

Bucky closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the other teen, he pressed his lips to Riley’s forehead, in a caring gesture, and muttered against the skin, “No . . . no one deserves this.”

Sighing, lifting his face to press a gentle kiss to Bucky’s lips, Riley pulled away and began bathing himself. “You know I’d never . . . rape you by choice? I . . . I don’t think I had a choice . . .” Riley had trouble meeting the other boy’s eyes, but he raised worried sea-green eyes to meet Bucky’s steel-blue anyway.

“If you hadn’t . . . he would’ve just brought either Rollins or Rumlow in to make things a lot worse. You didn’t have a choice . . . you’re not a rapist, Riley,” Bucky said softly.

“That’s what I thought, too. I figured I was maybe better than one of _them_ would be. I’ve had both of them, and it’s the worse of any of the staff or their guests.” Lifting a hand to stroke over Bucky’s left shoulder, Riley nodded. “I know I’m not, but I wondered if you agreed? You were the victim.”

“No . . . you were just a much a victim as me. You didn’t want to fuck me, but Pierce made you anyway. I’m just glad he didn’t make us switch.” Bucky began the painful process of cleaning himself out.

With a gentle touch, Riley began helping Bucky, carefully sliding one finger into him to help guide the cum from his passage. “Do you feel too sore for a regular douche, Bucky?” Riley asked as he worked.

Bucky groaned and leaned his forehead against the cool tile, bracing himself with his right arm. “I really don’t want to . . . but if you think I need it?”

“I hate them, myself,” Riley commented. “I just don’t know if Pierce will check you later or not.” He finally pulled his finger free and began soaping Bucky’s ass with gentle strokes of the cloth, tender to his lover, even if he had never intended to _be_ Bucky’s lover.

“Sometimes he does . . . sometimes he doesn’t,” Bucky reported, “I just wanna get out of this damn room.”

Nodding, Riley said, “maybe he’ll leave you alone tonight? He’s already gotten off once.” He knew, as well as Becca and TJ, what being Pierce’s _favorite_ meant.

Bucky shook his head, “The only time he leaves me alone is if he’s out of town . . . even after the accident he still came for me.”

“It could be worse,” Riley said, very softly. “He could want to watch you and your brothers have sex together.”

“I’d kill him if he tried,” Bucky ground out, pushing up off the slick tiled wall.

“What do you think he’s going to do now there are girl students?” Riley pulled away from Bucky and finished cleaning himself, pulling back his foreskin to make sure no cum remained.

“I’m gonna try keeping him distracted enough not to really notice them. Like I said . . . no one deserves this,” Bucky said firmly.

“You can’t protect all of us, Bucky. You’ll break.” Riley sighed and turned to aid Bucky in washing his front. “Maybe a couple of the stronger guys could help out?”

“No,” Bucky said instantly, thinking of Steve, “I can handle Pierce . . . I have for a year.”

“What happens next year when you and TJ have to leave and Beck stays behind?” Riley asked, letting go of Bucky’s clean shaft and balls, rinsing the cloth carefully.

Bucky shivered and shook his head, “I’ll be put as his legal guardian and then I’ll be able to pull him out. There will be nothing Pierce can do to stop me.”

Finally, Riley put the washcloth on the bar and looked up at the taller teen. “We’re clean. We need to dry off and get dressed. Pierce is right. The beatings are probably mostly over by now.” He shuddered, thinking of the double punishment Sam, Steve, and TJ would be enduring at the hands of Rumlow and Rollins.

Bucky nodded and reached over to turn off the water; he knew the double punishment would be severe and he worried about his brother and past lover. “I can’t believe they all got detention before the first day.”

With a sigh, reaching over to retrieve a towel so he could begin drying Bucky off, Riley nodded. “I think _they_ missed having students this summer.” He ran the cloth over Bucky’s thighs and buttocks.

“They didn’t seem like it when they were with us,” Bucky mumbled and shook his head. He stepped pass Riley with a slight limp and pushed the shower door open. 

Dropping his hands, still holding the towel, the blond sighed. “They didn’t even touch me. I thought maybe I was finally safe.” The teen took a step behind Bucky, following him, softly saying, “you okay?” He felt guilt well at the physical signs of how he’d had to treat his friend.

Looking over his shoulder, Bucky offered Riley a small smile, “I’m good . . . I’ll just be a little sore . . . it’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.” The brunet bent over to grab his clothes that he’d folded.

“Do you think he’ll have the students work together regularly, or that this was something unique?” Riley bit his lip. The blond began drying himself.

Pulling his underwear up with a quiet hiss, Bucky shook his head, “God, I hope not.” His eyes widened and he looked over at Riley, “Not - - not that I didn’t . . . I’m sorry . . . that came out wrong.”

Actually letting out a small chuckle, Riley shook his head and reached for his own clothes. “Just because we both came doesn’t mean we liked it, Bucky. I’m not insulted.” He shrugged. “I actually had to keep thinking about someone else.” He slid into his boxers. “Did my advice to think of . . . someone else . . . help you? It usually helps when I’m in lessons.”

Flushing, Bucky ducked his head and stepped into his trousers, hiking them up his lean legs. “Yeah . . . usually I try to think that I’m somewhere else . . . anywhere else. But your advice helped, thank you.”

Flashing a smile at his taller friend, Riley quickly dressed in his uniform. He smoothed his hands down his slacks as he waited for Bucky to finish. “Do we go back to our room now?” He flushed lightly.

Slipping his tie into his collar, Bucky nodded and began walking out of the room as he knotted his tie, Riley right on his heels.

Standing in the hallway was Pierce, watching the door intently and holding his watch in hand. “Took our time getting bathed? Or did we touch one another again . . . strictly against the rules, you know, James.”

Bucky jumped, whirling to look at Pierce, wincing at the sudden movement, “no, sir. We - - we were just getting clean.”

“An impossibility for you, James. You have been dirty since the first day you shoved yourself into that little boy you used to know. Get to the dining hall or you will forgo lunch.” Pierce frowned at them, eyes narrowed as he watched the pair, almost seeming jealous.

Flushing, Bucky hung his head and limped down the hall, not daring to look at Riley.

Not trying to catch his friend’s eyes, Riley kept his head bowed as well, hurrying to the dining hall and finding the pair of seats marked with the number ten. None of the other boys had arrived yet. They stood behind their pair of chairs, backs straight, looking straight ahead.

Bucky stood next to Riley, clutching the back of his chair tightly. His left arm trembled slightly but he only tightened his grip.

The sound of footsteps came to them, denoting that the other students had arrived, though their gate sounded subdued, almost hesitant. As most of the male students had received beatings for not being in uniform it was no wonder they seemed hesitant.

Riley wished he had been among those beaten instead of at Pierce’s private lesson.

First into the room was the dark-haired billionaire, looking a bit shell shocked actually; it had in all probability been the first time someone dared raise a hand to Tony Stark in his privileged life. He found the pair of seats marked _‘six’_ and stood behind his chair, as the group had been instructed during _detention_. The boy let his eyes rove down the filling table to glance at Bucky and Riley then looked straight ahead again.

Steve slipped into place with no signs of difficulty from his double punishment except a closed expression, his blue eyes old and distant as he stared past Bucky stationed across from him.

Bucky wished he could reach out and comfort his old lover, but he didn’t dare . . . he wasn’t about to get Riley and him punished again.

Sam took his place next to Steve, eyes trailing down Riley’s body to see if he could find any injuries . . . the blond’s bright red cheek made him want to jump across the table and comfort the other teen.

Letting his sea-green eyes slip up to meet Sam’s dark brown for a moment, Riley flushed brightly, his welt blurring in the redness, and snapped his eyes forward once more, hoping his former lover couldn’t tell that, rather than being beaten like everyone else, Riley had been having sex.

Clint stepped up to his seat, the only one actually unclaimed so rather easy to identify. He was still not in uniform, being in a pair of hospital pajamas instead, as well as a bandage around his arm and neck from where Rollins had hit him most enthusiastically. The guard, as everyone had watched in horror, had been screaming for Clint to move his ass, and Clint had merely looked at him in confusion, earning even more whacks with a wooden stick. Finally, Rumlow had been the one to call a halt and send the stocky blond to medical for treatment. No one else had disobeyed the guards.

Bruce looked around the table with a calculating look, as if trying to figure everyone out. He looked at Clint standing next to him, eyes furrowed as he went over the brutal beating the boy had been forced to endure. Bruce had noticed the stocky blond had a constant look of confusion and he was always the last to do or react to something. Something was off . . . and Bruce really wished he could figure it out.

Calling loudly, but still smoothly, Piece said “welcome to your first meal as a family. Soon, you will learn to depend on and trust one another. Feel free to speak softly as you eat. The meal lasts an hour and we encourage manners and polite discourse. If you are not directly next to or across from someone, it is impolite to call over another person.”

Staff members brought out large platters of food and placed them at intervals down the long table. Finally, they begin serving the students, as if the teens were guests at a fine banquet.

Tony was the first to take advantage of the talking offer by looking at a tall, dark-skinned boy sitting next to him and asking, very politely, “so, how many lashes did you get? I lost count after nine.”

Shooting the billionaire a cold glare, James Rhodes shook his head, “Tell me, Tony Stark, why would a billionaire’s son, like yourself, be slumming it with people like us?”

Reaching for his glass of water, Tony frowned and looked directly at the teen next to him. “Because the billionaire was killed in a car accident and the son decided to get drunk during the wake. My guardian thinks I’m an alcoholic. And why are you gracing us with your rather impressive presence . . . James Rhodes, wasn’t it?”

“Pissed my dad off,” Rhodes answered sharply, taking a long sip of ice cold water.

“Yeah,” Tony drank a long gulp, reminiscent of an alcoholic with a drink, and put the glass down, “some old men are real bastards, aren’t they?”

Rollins smacked a large stick across Tony’s shoulders, drawing a startled, pained yelp from the seventeen year old. “Watch you language, Anthony!” He strolled away, keeping an eye on the other students, though he seemed unbothered by the conversation, at least.

At the loud noise, Pietro jumped slightly and gripped his fork tighter, his own bruises covering his back and shoulders aching dully. He looked over at his roommate and was shocked to see that Clint didn’t make any indication of noticing Rollins’ loud discipline of Tony, merely eating silently, eyes down on his plate.

Bucky pushed food around his plate, not looking up at anyone. While he and Riley had been fucking, everyone else had to either be or watch someone be beaten. His lower half ached and his left arm throbbed. He didn’t have any sort of appetite.

Suddenly, making sure he wasn’t being watched, Steve grabbed a hot roll and began buttering it under the table, spreading a bit of sugar into the butter surreptitiously. When he finished, he closed the roll once more and paused, pretending to still be eating his nearly finished first helping. After another careful check, the tall blond snuck the sweetened roll onto Bucky’s plate across from him then picked up his fork as if he’d never moved.

Looking at the roll with wide eyes, Bucky’s head snapped up to look at Steve. Slowly, the brunet picked up the warm roll and brought it to his lips.

Very quietly as Bucky touched the bread, Steve whispered, “Sorry it’s not honey.” He kept looking at his plate.

Biting into the soft bread, Bucky had to hold back a groan. He used to love drowning his rolls in honey . . . they never got honey here. Bucky had never thought of using the sugar as a substitute.

Johnny looked across the table at his larger cousin then back at his own new roommate, who slumped a little in his chair. Trying not to be noticed, the boy shimmied closer to TJ, letting his roommate use his shoulder for some support. “So, Cousin Steve, sorry my folks didn’t take you in and all, but your dad put his foot down. Said we couldn’t come near.”

Using Johnny’s shoulder to keep himself upright, TJ merely stared at his plate of food, pushing the meal around with his fork. His hands shook and his eyes looked completely glazed over. His ribs ached with each breath he took. Jack and Brock hadn’t held back with the first punishment, and, with the drug they forced TJ to inject himself with, the lean brunet was having a hard time staying upright.

“Not your parents’ fault,” Steve said softly. “The courts agreed with him to send me into the system instead.”

Bucky glanced at his twin with a worried frown; TJ looked as if he was falling asleep sitting up. What had Jack and Brock done to TJ?

Glancing up a bit, Steve offered a hesitant smile to his friend, glancing worriedly over the oddly lethargic TJ, then looked down. Carefully, he said to Sam, “this is good roast, isn’t it?” The bruises from his handcuffs still marred his wrists.

Eyes flicking across the table to look at Riley before turning his attention to Steve, Sam nodded and murmured, “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

“Yes,” Riley said softly to Sam, not looking up. “The proper word is _‘yes’_ here.” He didn’t sound disapproving, just conversational, though he still flushed.

Sam looked at Riley for a few long moments, wondering what had happened to the carefree blond that he used to know. What had Pierce done to the man he loved to make him so quiet? He flashed a concerned look to Riley and then turned the look to Steve.

The muscular blond seemed equally troubled as he slipped another hot roll under the table and began buttering and sugaring it. He glanced at Bucky a moment and offered him another smile, though his worried eyes darted to Bucky’s twin once more.

Bucky’s eyes nervously glanced around the room before he flashed a smile back to Steve.

Letting the smile drop with his eyes, Steve finished working on the roll then carefully checked before sneaking it onto Bucky’s still almost full plate. Surprisingly, he managed to slip part of Bucky’s roast off the plate and onto his own, cutting the meat and eating it as if it had always been his. When they had lived together for that year, Steve had always eaten anything Bucky hadn’t wanted to without complaint or disgust no matter what it was.

With a sigh of relief, Bucky picked up the second roll and took a small bite.

Under the table, Riley’s hand hovered to caress Bucky’s leg then went back to his own lap, a small smile crossing his face. Apparently, the blond had recognized what Steve was doing, though the other blond was being careful.

Sam’s eyes fell to look at the loving caress Riley had given Bucky, and he felt another surge of anger at the lean brunet. Jealousy took over his mind and he wanted nothing more than to grab Bucky from across the table and punch the daylights out of him. How could Riley have moved on so quickly? Had Sam really meant that little to him?

Reaching for his glass, Riley’s eyes rose and fell on Sam across from him. The angry expression puzzled the blond and he gave his long-lost lover a confused look. Softly, since he was permitted to talk across the table, Riley asked, “Sam? Are you alright?”

Snorting softly, Sam shook his head and began to cut up his roast again.

Biting his lip, Riley hung his head. He figured Sam must be angry about the accident Riley had caused six months ago . . . the accident that had ended in Sam coming here instead of going into ROTC for the Air Force. Softly still, Riley said, “I’m sorry.” He laid his fork down, signaling he’d finished eating.

Bucky looked between the two teens; he narrowed his eyes harshly in Sam’s direction.

A staff member walked over, wrote something down in a notebook, and took Riley’s dishes, including his water glass. He looked at TJ and moved to stand beside the lethargic teen. Finally, the staff member growled out, “done playing with lunch, Thomas?”

Blinking, it seemed to take a moment for it to sink in that he was being address, TJ sluggishly moved his head to look up at the staff member, “yes,” he managed to slur out, but even that one word was almost incomprehensible.

“And what do you do when you’ve finished your meal, Thomas?” the man prompted on another growl.

Blinking again, TJ lay down his fork but accidentally bumped his glass of water, spilling it. TJ tried to get his napkin quickly but he was too slow, too sluggish, to soak it up before the iced water spilled all over Johnny’s lap.

Stiffening, eyes widening, as he was totally iced down where no man wished an icing, Johnny actually managed to keep from making a single sound. He instead dropped his own napkin into his lap and stared straight ahead, letting his fork clatter from his nerveless fingers to his plate.

“‘M sorry,” TJ murmured, his words slurring together.

The staff member instantly cleaned up both meals and had another member come get the pair. The new member gripped TJ by the arms and pulled him up, letting him lean. “Come along, Jonathan. The meal is over for room eight.”

Johnny rose to his feet without a word, following silently behind the staff member practically half-carrying TJ down to Dr. Zola’s domain.

Bucky fought the urge to watch as his brother was hauled away from the table, knowing the staff would be taking the sluggish teen to Dr. Zola. He shuddered at the idea of his twin anywhere near the sadistic man . . . but Bucky couldn’t do anything to stop it.

With a soft frown of worry, Steve managed to sneak half of Bucky’s vegetables to his own plate, though he’d run out of rolls to feed Bucky in exchange. He figured Bucky wasn’t hungry and didn’t want the other teen to get in trouble for not eating. Seeing TJ and his cousin Johnny led away was bad enough. The binder had proclaimed that waste was frowned upon, being recorded meticulously for further repayment, and so Steve suspected the pair would be beaten yet again that night. He glanced up to offer the brunet a worried smile then hesitated, looking between Bucky, Sam, and Riley. Something had happened, and the tall blond wasn’t sure what it was.

Sam gave Bucky a glare, ignoring the loss of the other two students; he didn’t care if Bucky was _Pierce’s pet_ . . . he could still kick the guy’s ass.

A dreaded smooth voice settled over the foursome. “Done eating Kestrel? Are you still feeling unwell? Perhaps you should see Dr. Zola after lunch like Thomas and Jonathan,” Pierce intoned.

True fear crossed the blond’s face. “No, sir, I’m better now. I didn’t want to take a chance on becoming sick once more.”

Pierce nodded. “Well then you should rest this evening. The excitement of new friends and your lessons seems to have exhausted you. James, you may stay and care for him tonight. I will, instead, begin Samuel’s private lessons.”

That fear came back and Riley called out desperately, “no, sir, please. I can do my lessons.”

Bucky sighed; his whole body ached and a night off would be great, but he said softly, “yes, sir. We don’t want to get behind.”

Steve watched the proceedings with troubled interest. Slowly, he asked, “Sir, do you often do private lessons or are they more often doubled up like this afternoon?”

Bucky shot a quick shocked look in Steve’s direction; he shook his head softly.

Smiling, Pierce answered, “until you are an advanced student, your lessons will be private. However, as we now have four very advanced students, I have instilled a new joint class for further training. Work hard and you may soon join these advanced classes, Steven.” The man smiled at the attractive black teen. “I will come for you after supper tonight, Samuel. Make sure you are bathed and dressed correctly.”

As Pierce walked away, Riley dropped his face into his hands with a soft whimper. “You were better off dead,” he moaned quietly.

Bucky kicked Riley softly under the table.

Sam watched his ex-lover with shocked, confused eyes. _Better off dead?_ He looked at Riley’s red welt and wondered what exactly Pierce’s private lessons entailed.

“Buck?” What’s going on in this place? Besides being jailed?” Steve asked softly, barely audible.

Looking at Steve, eyes displaying all the pain he felt, Bucky shook his head, “Everything.”

“Everything?” Steve asked, meeting his oldest friend’s eyes. “I don’t think I understand, Buck. It’s a school for criminal kids, right?”

“I hope you never understand, Steve,” Bucky muttered and dropped his own fork.

Riley lifted his face to look over at Sam, but the arrival of a staff member for Bucky’s dishes interrupted whatever the blond was going to say. Marking down the amount of waste, the staff member cleaned up Bucky’s food and took his water glass as well before walking away. Finally, when the kids were relatively alone again, Riley said, “tonight he plans to test you in his special subjects. I suggest excelling in theft. It’s better than the alternative.”

Becca’s head shot up and she narrowed her eyes, whispering, “hush!”

Bucky kicked Riley again, slightly harder, “Kestrel!” He hissed harshly.

Riley’s eyes shot to Bucky’s and he frowned. “Stop trying to cripple me!” he whispered. “You know they’re all going to be tested then given evening lessons, Buck. Keeping it secret won’t protect them.”

“I’d much rather not get _detention_ again, Riley,” Bucky snapped, eyes flashing dangerously.

The slender blond snapped his mouth shut, flushing and lowering his eyes, looking ashamed.

“What is with that guy?” Sam snapped to Steve, jutting his chin in Bucky’s direction, “guy’s a nutcase.”

"He is not a nutcase!” Steve instantly snapped back, this time forgetting to keep his voice down or check for their guards.

“Steve!” Bucky hissed, leaning slightly across the table.

“A little argument, boys,” Rumlow drawled from directly behind Steve, causing Riley to jump.

“No, sir,” Steve grumbled, glaring at his roommate. However, he’d misjudged in his anger, as the rude remark allowed a very real opening for Rumlow.

The man clamped a hand down on Steve’s neck and grinned. “Lying again, Steven?”

Bucky’s eyes dropped; he didn’t intervene this time . . . he couldn’t put Riley through another one of Pierce’s punishments again.

“No, sir,” Steve answered again. “Not an argument, just a difference of opinions.”

“Lies, fights, and acts rude,” Rumlow listed. “I think you need another detention.” Lifting his head, he called to his partner, “Rollins. Eleven needs special detention. They’re done lunch now!”

Steve flushed but put down his fork, not arguing with Rumlow’s assessment.

Sam let him fork fall with a loud clatter, cursing under his breath as he glared at Bucky then at Steve.

Riley never lifted his eyes, cringing but staying utterly silent in the face of the coming punishment for the other pair. He ached to help Sam, but couldn’t force himself on Bucky yet again . . . especially considering Bucky’s present condition.

Rollins strode over with his his stick and grinned as another staff member took down the obligatory notes about Sam and Steve’s waste. “Yeah, I don’t think regular detention worked, Brock.” He hit the stick in his palm. “On your feet, Eleven!”

Frowning, but staying silent, Steve rose to his feet, towering over both guards and beating them by about fifty pounds, but still very much a kid.

Sam shoved himself to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and turned to face the two guards.

“Just looking for more discipline, Samuel?” Rollins leered. He nodded. “Outside and upstairs. Fourth floor.”

Riley went pale and clenched his fists so hard, his nails broke the skin. He mouthed the word _‘sorry’_ to Sam and Steve.

Bucky shook his head and reached under the table to squeeze Riley’s hand soothingly.


	4. Welcome to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Rape, Graphic Violence, Psychological Torture, Medical Torture**

The tall, muscular blond strode from the room, not looking left or right, and headed up the staircases, noting how things became more plush, more luxurious with each floor. It seemed odd to step into such a richly appointed hallway for a punishment; Steve merely awaited further instructions, not looking at the boy he’d only met that day and resented entirely at the moment.

“What’s with you and the freak?” Sam whispered harshly as he stood next to Steve, fuming.

“Bucky is not a freak!” He ground back at the other teen. “He’s my best friend!”

“He’s an asshole!” Sam ground out, jaw clenching.

“Why? Because he took our punishment earlier? Or because he stopped taking them now?” Steve glared at Sam, fists balling, wanting to hit the other kid.

“He’s a coward!” Sam turned to face Steve, momentarily forgetting in his anger that they had been sent up there for punishment.

The blond grabbed in blind anger for Sam, gathering his shirt and tie in one strong hand. “What the fuck did you say?”

“You heard me! He’s a fucking coward and a fucking freak!” Sam snarled, eyes hardening.

Steve swung, his fist barely stopping before coming into contact with Sam’s face. Rumlow stood there, holding the hard fist, grinning widely as if delighted by their fight. “Definitely need training,” he rasped.

Rollins reached the top of the stairs and began leading them down the hall, Rumlow bringing up the rear but walking so close to the teens they couldn’t get any more words in. Finally, the foursome reached one of the end apartments, off to the side of the corridor, and Rollins unlocked the door, swinging it wide, revealing a posh sitting room.

Looking over his shoulder at the husky Rumlow, Steve frowned and stepped into the luxurious apartment setup.

Leering at Steve, Rollins came up behind the blond and smacked him hard on the back of the neck with a wooden stick, “you think you’re Mr. Tough Guy, huh?”

Steve gasped in shock and pain, hand flying protectively to his neck, eyes shooting a look at the guard. He had expected a beating, just not yet . . . and not with the door wide open, but he supposed Bucky was right: this place was hell. The guards and staff wouldn’t stop a beating. “Sir . . . I’m sorry . . . I have a quick temper . . .” He felt inner disgust at the pleading tone in his own voice.

Clucking his tongue, Rollins turned back around and shut the door, “Gotta learn to control it, Steven. Someone’s gonna get hurt.” He smacked the stick threateningly against his palm.

Grinning, Rumlow reached over and locked the door, pocketing the key. “Samuel, let’s go into the other room. It’ll be easier for your punishment.” He looked at the handsome black boy.

Shooting Steve one last glare, Sam walked into the other room.

“A foul mouth,” Rumlow began, “rude,” he left the door open and strode to the boy, using his menacing attitude and brute strength to back Sam into the bed, “a real discipline case. Got a problem with the senior students, too, I saw. Don’t seem to like Kestrel and James too much, do you?”

“Just James, sir,” Sam grumbled, though his heart beat rapidly in his chest.

Rumlow nodded, gesturing to Sam’s uniform. “You already know the drill, Samuel. Don’t want blood on your nice clothes. Take them off and put them over there,” he gestured towards a straight-backed chair.

Sam just stared at Rumlow; this wasn’t like the beating . . . he was alone with the burly guard . . . in a bedroom, nonetheless. Riley’s warning from earlier echoed in his ears: _‘you were better off dead.’_

“I said,” Rumlow growled, eyes narrowing, “Strip it, Wilson!”

Shaky hands rising to loosen his tie, Sam continued to eye Rumlow warily. But his fingers didn’t move to actually remove any of his clothing.

“You disobeying? Here I am being all polite and reasonable. But I can get my partner in here and you can deal with _both_ of us . . . one at either end, I think . . .” Rumlow glared and gestured to Sam’s tie. “Strip!”

Sam backed up further, forgetting about the bed that he’d been backed up against; his knees buckled and he fell backwards on the bed.

Rumlow crawled onto the bed over Sam, grinning widely. “Supposed to be out of uniform in bed, Samuel,” he cooed. “But we can work with this if you’d rather. Just adds more punishment if you mess up that uniform though.” He reached out with one hand to clamp on Sam’s hip, the other untying the tie, almost knotting it in his awkward movement.

Sam squirmed under the guard’s hold, trying to push against Rumlow’s chest.

Pulling back his free hand, tie still tangled in his fingers, Rumlow slapped Sam hard against the face. “You are a very bad boy, Samuel! I’m gonna have to make sure you know your place.”

“Get off me!” Sam shouted, only pushing and shoving harder against Rumlow.

With a laugh, Rumlow straddled Sam, clamping strong legs around the slender teen. He used the tie to bind one of Sam’s hands to a bedpost. The man pulled a knife from his back pocket. “Looks like you’re gonna be in trouble tomorrow, too, if I have to cut your fucking clothing off, Wilson.” He began to move the blade towards Sam’s buttons. “Mr. Pierce don’t like replacing uniforms for disobedient little ass fuckers like you.”

Franticly, Sam struggled harder, “No! Get your hands off me!”

“Right,” Rumlow growled and placed the blade against Sam’s neck. “We’ve lost students to suicide before . . . shame it’ll happen so soon in the term.” His cold eyes glared into Sam’s.

Immediately Sam froze at the feel of the blade, eyes wide, fearful.

“Ah, that got your attention, didn’t it?” The tone was no longer congenial or playful. Rumlow sounded pissed. “Now, you little cocksucker, you are going to strip down and take your fucking punishment, or you will be going back to your Mama in a closed casket.”

In the other room, Steve could hear every foul word, every threat against his roommate, but he could do nothing to help Sam. He had his own problems with Rollins, who seemed intent on doling out his own sadistic form of punishment. The blond had backed against the locked door, unable to go further, blue eyes wide.

Snapping out the stick to hit the front of Steve’s thigh, Rollins snarled, “Tell me . . . what was the argument was about.”

Yelping, Steve twisted away from the punishing blow. He shook his head. “No . . . arguement . . . sir . . . . difference . . . of . . . opinion,” he panted and tried to curl protectively away from the man with the stick.

Hitting the blond’s side, just under the armpit; Rollins shook his head, “Liar. Tell me the truth, Steven. What were you and Samuel fighting about? Seemed to get a little heated.”

Yelping at the pain, Steve wriggled away from the man, but he couldn’t get any further than where he already had retreated. Desperately he actually considered hitting the security guard, but threw that option out immediately. A prisoner didn’t attack the jailer. “He called Bucky a nutcase. That’s it. I got mad . . . quick temper,” he called out.

Lowering the stick with a menacing smirk, Rollins sneered, “James? Now, why would you care if someone called James a name?”

“I don’t like it when people pick on other people,” Steve breathed out, starting to relax. The worst seemed to be over.

Rollins snapped out with the weapon again, hitting the teen on the hip.

Screaming in shock at the unexpected pain, Steve curled to protect his hip.

“What were you yelling about in the hall? Tell the truth now, Steven.” The guard raised his arm again, readying himself to strike.

“It was stupid, nothing! I shouldn’t have worried about it,” Steve called uncurling to try to reason with Rollins, hoping the man would accept the admission. “I was childish and stupid. I’m sorry!”

The stick came down hard and fast on Steve’s abdomen, “C’mon . . . tell me what it was about. He pick on James again? Call him the filthy faggot he is?”

The blond doubled over, clutching his gut. Tears leaking down his face, Steve looked up at the adult. ”Bucky isn’t filthy!”

Rollins laughed, cold and bitter, “He’s filthy alright . . . how do you think he became Pierce’s little pet?” The guard smacked Steve’s cheek with the back of his hand.

“Because that old fuck forced him?” Steve growled out, eyes flashing in sudden anger at the attack on his lover. Steve raised his head, welt forming, and glared at Rollins. “Bucky’s more beautiful than any of you freaks.”

Looking almost amused, Rollins dropped the weapon and then launched forward, pushing the blond up against the door, forearm pressing tightly against Steve’s throat.

Gasping in surprise and pain and no little fear, Steve’s tear-washed blue eyes widened and he froze against the hard wood at his back. He’d lost his temper and pressed his luck, and Steve feared he’d wind up one of those _‘suicide victims’_ Rumlow had mentioned from the other room.

“You’re strong, aren’t you, Steven?” Rollins sneered, “C’mon, Mr. Tough Guy, show me how strong you are.”

“No,” he rasped out fearfully, “Sorry, sir . . .” Steve raised his hands up above his head, elbows bent, wrists pressed into the door to indicate he wouldn’t fight, that Rollins had won. He had to bide his time, and maybe he could find a way to initiate his original plan to run away . . . but this time, he’d take Bucky, TJ, Johnny, and Becca with him. A defiant spark lingered in his blue eyes.

Releasing Steve, Rollins let the blond fall to the floor.

Hand going to his throat, the muscular teen coughed and breathed deeply, on his knees and one hand.

Clucking his tongue in disappointment, Rollins shook his head, “A little training and you can hone in on all that anger . . . use it to actually _do_ something with your pathetic life.”

Looking up, hand still on his throat, Steve asked softly, “sir? Am . . . am I done?” His eyes went to the bedroom where Rumlow straddled Sam on a large bed. Steve’s eyes snapped back to Rollin’s face. He prayed to God he wouldn’t be punished like _that_. He wished he could save the other boy, but Steve felt powerless.

Kneeling down, Rollins fingers wrapped tightly into Steve’s hair and wrenched the teen’s head up to look at him. “Oh, Steven . . . I’m nowhere near done with you . . . Mr. Pierce will hear about your little _obsession_ with James.”

“Ob . . . obsession?” He winced as he began to shake his head and his hair pulled. Stilling, Steve gasped, “I’m not obsessed with Bucky, sir. We knew each other before school.”

Tightening his grip on Steve’s hair, Rollins smiled devilishly, “Is that so? You fucked him before? He’s a good lay, I’ll give you that. Always so nice and tight.”

Eyes widening, Steve gasped, “no!” It wasn’t a lie; Bucky had always been the one on top. “I didn’t . . .” Fear laced through his voice, rising in his eyes. Was Rollins lying? Had he really . . . did _that_ to his Bucky?

“Doesn’t cry anymore either . . . just lays there and takes it, like the good little boy he is.” Rollins sneered, looking at Steve intently.

“You shit!” Steve wrapped his hands around Rollins throat, but the gip was awkward in his curled position. “You lay a hand on him . . .”

Steve’s grip on his throat wasn’t tight and Rollins easily pulled away. Using his free hand, the guard slapped Steve again, “I already have, Steven. Fucked him good and raw. The little faggot had to be punished for fucking a twelve year old. I’m afraid your roommate is right . . . your _Bucky_ is a nutcase.”

“Fucking liar! I was sixteen!” He tried to struggle, anger at the insults and unfounded rumors about Bucky blinding the tall blond. “I wasn’t twelve you bastard! _You’re_ the fucking nutcase, raping a kid!”

“And you fuck Thomas, too, you little lying slut? You fuck all the Barnes brothers?” Rollins pulled on Steve’s hair, pulling the blond’s neck back even further.

Spitting on Rollins, Steve growled out defiantly, “fuck you!”

“You will watch your fucking mouth! Or the next time that I fuck your little boyfriend I can promise I’ll make it as painful as possible. See if I can make him cry again . . . been a while, but I’m up for a challenge.” Rollins growled in return, gripping Steve’s short hair even tighter.

Steve froze then dropped, limp and quiet suddenly, eyes wide and fearful. He would never cause Bucky pain, even if he had to take this man’s abuse. “No, sir, please,” he said quietly, very polite, “please. You can use me, just don’t hurt Bucky, please?” He also had to protect Bucky’s siblings.

“I have another idea for you, Steven. I’ll have to run it by Mr. Pierce, of course . . . but let’s just say . . . I think you and I will be seeing a lot of each other from now on.” Rollins let go of Steve’s hair, standing up.

Flushing, letting his head drop back to the floor, Steve nodded. “I’ll be real good to you, Mr. Rollins.” He lay there, still, listening to the heavy rasp from his own lungs in counterpoint to the obscene sounds from the other room where Rumlow practiced his own punishment on Sam.

Finally, Rumlow let out a low growl, bucking his hips, driving himself down Sam’s throat as he released his load. “God, yeah, Wilson. Take it all, dirty whore.”

Gagging, Sam’s hand pulled against the fabric that bound him, and the other struggled against Rumlow.

Pulling back, leaking down Sam’s face and chest, the man shook the last of his cum out and over the teen. Grunting, he nodded and slid off the bed.”Yeah, looks like you almost know what to do, Samuel,” he said, tucking himself into his underwear and zipping up his trousers.

Sam sputtered and took in several large gasps of air. He flushed in embarrassment and tried to cover himself as best he could with only one hand.

“You know,” Rumlow grinned, “The senior students are so much better at this. But with training, you might even be able to take as much up your ass as that pretty little Kestrel. There was one night he took me and Rollins at the same time. What a fine ass.”

Sam’s eyes widened, “Wh - - what did you just say?”

Straightening his uniform, Rumlow chuckled low and lewd. “I said, _Kestrel took two guys at once_. And once Pierce is confident he can train James to do that, we might be allowed to train you, too. Deviants get to _use_ their skills here. With Thomas, that’d give us a good number of trained cocksuckers.”

Pulling at his bindings again, Sam felt his anger flare again . . . Riley was being raped?

“Oh, you want a piece of that, don’t you?” Rumlow laughed and walked from the bedroom. “He’s done, Rollins. Your’s?”

Rollins laughed, “Oh, yeah. Steven and I came to an understanding . . . didn’t we?”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve answered obediently, the fight seemingly totally gone.

Rumlow looked intrigue. “Found a soft spot, did we? So far, Samuel’s not cracking, but I don’t mind. I like ‘em feisty.” He glanced back to the bedroom. “Steven, go clean up and dress your roommate then get back to your room. No stops in between.”

“Sir?” Steve glanced at Rollins.

“Go on, you listen to Rumlow, too, Steven.” Rollins spoke to Steve like a person would speak to a small child.

Nodding, the blond walked into the other room and crawled up onto the bed. He had to lean partially over Sam as he reached for the tie and began trying to unknot it.

“Oh, he _is_ obedient!” Rumlow chuckled. “Tell me, Jack, what’s his control? As his other handler, I’ll need to use it once in awhile.” The guard unlocked the door to the private suite and stepped from the room.

“It’s our Bucky Boy . . . I guess they use to fuck in high school.” Rollins reported.

“Wait,” Brock Rumlow stopped and turned to his partner. “Our pretty pet? But his file says he fucked kids. Nowhere did it mention that muscle-bound behemoth.” He shook his head. “Did he screw with the twin, too? Make an orgy of it?” Rulow led his friend from the room, letting the door close behind them.

Sam looked up at Steve, “They’re being raped, Steve.”

Nodding, looking defeated, Steve softly said, “I know.” He got the final knot undone and eased Sam’s arm down, massaging it gently. “Are you torn? Bleeding?”

Flushing, Sam shook his head, “No - - no . . . he just used my - - uh . . . mouth.”

Looking relieved, the blond nodded. “That’s good, right? I thought . . .” he shrugged and tugged Sam to a sitting position. “Let me get a washcloth,” he said and slid from the bed.

Groaning, Sam looked over at Steve apologetically, “I’m sorry for what I said about James . . . I - - I didn’t know.”

Soaping the cloth, Steve returned and began cleaning off the spunk from Sam’s face and chest. “Last year, a social worker thought I was twelve.” He shrugged. “I was scrawny and sick. But she seems to have written in Bucky’s file that . . . that he’s . . .” Steve shook his head. He sat back on his heels, his uniform dirty, torn, and bloodstained from his bout with Rollins. “I thought you’d heard the lies about him.”

Sam shook his head, “No . . . he was looking at and touching Riley . . . I got upset. But - - now I know why they’re so close.”

Nodding, sadness in his eyes, Steve said, “I guess people can bond over something like that. But, Sam, Bucky’s never taking another punishment for me. Just,” he looked fierce, “just warning you.”

Grimacing, Sam nodded and looked at Steve, “I wouldn’t let Riley take anything for me, either.”

“Agreed,” Steve nodded and held out his hand to seal the deal. “We protect them . . . no matter what.”

“Yeah,” Sam gripped Steve’s hand and gave it a firm shake, “No matter what.”

“Let’s get you dressed so we can go back to our cell,” Steve said, reaching for the discarded uniformed. “I have a deep urge to read that rule binder cover to cover.”

Chuckling softly, Sam quickly got dressed in his uniform and followed his roommate out of the suite.

**************

As the kitchen staff dragged TJ into the medical suite, Johnny following obediently, still looking shell shocked, Dr. Arnim Zola looked up from his notes at his desk. “Oh, they are getting quite ill today, are they not? Nasty foreign bugs from the outside world.

“‘M fine,” TJ tried to slur out, attempting to wrench his arm from the staff member’s grasp.

The staff member let go, allowing TJ to overbalance and fall down, chuckling at the clumsy drugged student.

Johnny instantly knelt down to check on his roommate.

TJ’s entire world spun and for a moment he thought he’d either puke or pass out, maybe both. After a moment, the lean brunet pushed shakily to his hands and knees, “‘m fine,” he repeated, trying to control the shakiness in his voice, though he also tried to keep conscious.

“Lie still,” Johnny instructed then glanced up as the laughing staff member left the room, followed by the other cafeteria worker. This left both teens alone with the apparently inoffensive little doctor with the glasses and gentle appearance.

“Can go back to ‘oom,” TJ muttered, lifting his head to look at the doctor; the lean brunet then giggled inanely.

Johnny couldn’t help smiling at the drugged teen’s happy-sounding outburst.

Zola did not smile, however. He rose to his feet and approached the teens. He squatted down and lifted TJ’s face with one strong hand, studying his eyes and pallor and trembling. “And why were you given correction this time, Thomas?” he asked softly, in a gentle accent.

“‘Cessive ‘igeting,” TJ slurred through another wave of giggles, “‘ike you guys need a ‘eason.”

“Yes, that would be enough to perplex the staff. You have been given relaxation instruction for this before, Thomas, to control the fidgeting.” He shook his head and dropped TJ’s chin. “And I _always_ have a reason for administering medications.”

“Nope,” TJ giggled, popping the _‘p’_ loudly, “you ‘uys are all sick . . . sick ‘astards.”

“And so, you would compare me to the other staff members here? You would wish me to be like _them_ , perhaps? Will you obey and respect me if I were to shove my penis down your esophagus, Thomas, is that what you wish?” Zola looked disgusted and stood, pulling his doctor’s lab coat around him as if using it like a shield.

Giggling again, TJ opened his mouth obscenely wide and after a moment, closed it with another laugh, “nah, Doc, you ain’t _man_ enough for me.”

Frowning fiercely, eyes snapping in rising anger, the small doctor let out a soft snarl, twisting his lip a bit. “You are utterly disgusting, Thomas.” He gestured towards one of the beds, a solid steel without coverings, thick leather straps attached every half foot.

“So they tell me,” TJ made no moves to get on the table, purposely disobeying the doctor, “‘hats the ‘atter, Doc? Can’t ‘et it up? Or ‘aybe you don’t know ‘ow to use it?”

“I will reserve my sexual activities for outside the school setting, thank you, Mr. Barnes. Now, lie down on the table and we will begin your treatment.” Zola glared at the teen.

Giggling even more, TJ sing-songed, “you _don’t_ know ‘ow to use it! It’s real ‘imple, Doc. ‘Aybe you need a _lesson_. ‘An you even find it? Is it ‘mall?”

Finally, Zola seemed to snap in anger. He reached down and tugged TJ to his feet, slamming the unsteady teen onto the bed, bruising him. He began strapping the boy down, face pressed into the cold metal. “You are offensive, Thomas!” he growled.

“And you’re a _little_ man,” TJ sung back, seeming almost unfazed by rough treatment, “‘ith a little cock, I bet.”

Johnny remained kneeling on the floor, eyes wide as he watched the man and the teen, unsure what to do to stop the rough behavior.

Once strapped, TJ was immobile and Zola seemed satisfied. He nodded once and stepped to a small instrument table. Picking up a pair of bandage scissors, Zola began cutting TJ’s uniform from him, revealing TJ’s pale body bit by bit, until even the underpants had been stripped away, exposing TJ to the chill air of the medical suite.

Horror lit Johnny’s face and he sat there immobile, stunned.

“Kinky much?” TJ continued to tease the doctor.

Zola growled low and moved to grab several items from his table. He walked over to TJ and began to use a thin speculum to push into the boy and open him, forgoing any kind of lubricant.

Hissing, sucking in a breath, TJ’s trembling hands clenched into fists, “that ain’t ‘ow you do it, Doc.”

Using a penlight, the heartless man looked inside TJ’s rectum and proclaimed, neutrally, “no lesions, contusions, or infections.” He removed the speculum and put it on the table. The man then used a pointed metal object to prod at various points of TJ’s body, including fingers, toes, and even his penis in several areas.

Johnny got to his feet “Whoa! Doctor. Um… he was given drugs to stop his fidgets. I don’t think all this is needed!”

“‘Oc Zola ‘ets off on ‘his. ‘Cause he ‘an’t get it up,” TJ flashed a large grin to the other teen, as if he wasn’t being poked and prodded in intimate places against his will.

“Reflexes and nerve responses appear within normal ranges,” Zola intoned, ignoring the barbs TJ spoke. He switched to a very long, thin tube which looked like it might have come from the dark ages. Turning back to TJ, Zola reached down and gripped the teen’s penis, holding the limp organ steady as he began feeding the sound into him.

That caused an actual whimper to break past TJ’s lips and his whole body seemed to tense, for once, not saying anything through the pain and humiliation.

As urine flowed from the tube, the doctor watched the growing puddle on the bed, making no move to capture the liquid for testing. Instead, he finally pulled the sound from TJ’s penis and put it on his table. He nodded. “Urine appears to be of good amount and coloration. Now for a fecal exam . . .”

“N - - no,” TJ shook his head as much as he could, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

The doctor looked at the boy and said, “have you recently moved your bowels, Mr. Barnes?” He picked up another archaic looking tool.

Johnny hugged himself, looking nauseous. He realized that in all probability, he would be next on that table.

Swallowing thickly, TJ shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. Even with the drugs coursing through him, he knew how terribly mortifying this whole thing was.

Nodding, Dr. Zola said clearly, “this will, perhaps, be easier for you than, Thomas. If you _had_ moved your bowels, you would then have to be tested once you have enough fecal matter.” The man inserted the instrument and used very long handled pair of hemostats to perform his test. Removing a fair amount of matter, Dr. Zola merely put the dirtied instrument and the supposed sample negligently on the table, proving yet again that the samples were not his real goal in this torturous exam. Dr. Zola straightened. “Now to examine your mouth, Thomas.”

With his last bit of defiance, TJ kept his mouth clamped shut; he didn't know when he had started crying, but humiliated tears ran down his pale cheeks. He could take a lot but this pointless, invasive torture shook him to his very core. It didn't help that Johnny was watching everything that happened, making this whole thing unbearable.

“Ah, do not disobey now, Thomas while you are doing so well.” Dr. Zola picked up a different instrument and didn’t seem to care if it was dirty by then.

“Leave him alone!” Johnny finally broke through his horror to lunge at the sadistic man, pushing him away from the table and victim.

Surprised, Dr. Zola stumbled under the force and crashed into a cabinet of instruments, falling to the ground, dazed. Johnny worked quickly to unstrap TJ, but he wasn’t quick enough. Zola got to his feet and hit an alarm that would sound only in the staff rooms, alerting them to a dangerous rebellion. Johnny continued to try to free TJ.

“'houldn’t have done that . . .” TJ looked back at the tall blond; his entire body trembled by then and he looked close to passing out.

“Don’t care,” Johnny growled defiantly. “He was torturing you. That wasn’t medicine.”

“Is there a problem, Dr. Zola?” Pierce asked smoothly from the doorway, as if there was not a smashed cabinet, strewn instruments, and a bruised doctor trying to regain his equilibrium.

“Storm, sir, attacked me,” Zola reported, straightening his glasses and brushing ineffectually at his lab coat.

TJ, once Johnny had freed him, tried to push up with shaky arms.

“Sir,” Johnny stepped between his roommate and the two adults, saying, “I understand the need to monitor a student’s health, especially one on medication, but this man wasn’t doing that. He was simply torturing Thomas. He was about to cause him injury and even infection with a dirty instrument, sir!”

Nodding, Pierce smiled soothingly. “Bring Thomas back to your room, Jonathan. This will be investigated. If your accusations prove false, you will both be severely disciplined.”

“Thank you, sir,” Johnny said, barely keeping his anger and shock in check. He dragged TJ up and against his hip, more carrying than aiding the other boy from the room as quickly as he could.

“We're gonna get 'unished,” TJ murmured, letting Johnny guide him from the room. The smaller teen either wasn't aware or didn't care about his nudity.

“Well, I think I can take another beating if it means getting you away from that monster, TJ!” Johnny lugged the other teen down to the student cells, thankful the group was still at lunch. He hefted TJ onto the lower bunk then wetted a cloth at the sink and began wiping up the feces and urine. “They’re insane here!” Johnny whispered fiercely.

“Yeah,” TJ didn't argue the help, though his cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

“Ya know,” Johnny blurted, trying to find something to put the new friendship back at ease, “in Ireland if you bang heads it relieves stress?” He frowned, knowing he must have got that wrong; he’d barely paid attention to the stupid romance movies his older sister watched, and that was from one of her stupid films. “I mean, the pressure and embarrassment of meeting, not regular stress. Supposed to help a romance?” Johnny shut his mouth. Normally he was smooth, but this place had him on the verge of freaking out.

TJ tilted his head, looking at the blond with curious eyes. He didn't say anything, simply walked over to grab his spare clothes after Johnny had finished cleaning him up.

“Course, I prefer just kissing someone I like,” Johnny muttered, flushing lightly.

Smirking softly, TJ looked at the other boy as he pulled on a pair of boxers, the effects of the drugs were beginning to wear off. “Kissing is always a great stress reliever,” he shot back softly.

Nodding, Johnny turned and put his hands on TJ’s shoulders, pushing him back into the toilet and sink alcove behind the curtain. Pulling the curtain securely around, he leaned in. “Yeah?” Johnny tilted his head and sealed his mouth possessively across TJ’s.

Mewling into the kiss, TJ lifted his hands to curl his fingers in Johnny's short hair, slipping his tongue into the other teen’s mouth to deepen the desperate kiss. TJ pressed his body, only dressed in a pair of thin boxers, flush against Johnny's, his groin inadvertently grinding against the blond's. The kiss provided TJ with an escape from reality - - that for just a moment, he was a normal teenager again . . . a normal teenager kissing a very good looking boy.

Johnny continued the kiss for several minutes before slowly breaking off, letting his forehead rest against the brunet’s. Whispering, catching his breath from the intense emotions the kiss pulled from them both, Johnny said, “you gonna need a lot more stress relief, babe. Gonna have to kiss you a lot this term.”

TJ met Johnny’s vibrant blue eyes, licking his lips; the brunet nodded as his lips twitched into a smile, “yeah, it’s now a necessity. You’re stuck with supplying me my kisses.” TJ tried to ignore the flutter in his chest when Johnny called him _babe_.

“Definitely can meet that requirement,” Johnny promised on a low chuckle.

“Thank you,” TJ whispered, “for what you did back there. It was stupid and we’re gonna get punished for it . . . but - - thanks . . .”

“Yeah, sorry it took so long to react, but . . . I felt like I was trapped in some kinda horror movie. How can anyone do that to another human being? I was absolutely convinced he’d kill you and rip you open in the name of medicine.” Johnny shook his head, frowning fiercely.

“Nah, he won’t kill me,” TJ took a step back, “Brock and Jack have too much fun with me . . .” he flushed as the words left his mouth, ducking his head and slipping from behind the curtain to resume getting dressed.

Johnny followed leisurely right after, obvious to anyone checking security that he didn’t need to fix his clothing or anything. He didn’t even look at his pretty roommate when he grabbed his binder and said, “so, medical torture and beatings aren’t the only things go on here?”

Wincing, TJ pulled on his slacks and then slipped the button down shirt over his shoulders, covering his bruised flesh from their earlier punishment. “I wish those were the only things that went on here . . .” 

Nodding, the sound of many footfalls stopped Johnny from continuing their private conversation, but he gave TJ a small smile and wink before the others rounded the corridor.

**************

Released from lunch, the students, minus the pairs being disciplined, were instructed to go back to their rooms. Classes would begin the next day, so they were encouraged to become comfortable with one another and the rules. Pierce graciously permitted them reasonably volumed conversation for the afternoon until supper time.

In the back of the group, Clint walked, watchful and wary. Seeing the others going into the assigned cells, he thankfully slipped back into his and climbed up on the top bunk. He eased into a lying down position, turned to watch everything his roommate did or anything occurring just outside in the corridor.

Pietro watched his roommate; other than screaming when Rollins had beat him, he hadn’t heard Clint make a single sound. “Are - - are you like mute or somethin?” The silver haired teen asked the blond.

Puzzled to see the other teen’s mouth moving but no sound emerging, Clint asked, “are you talking to me?” His voice fluctuated between a steady drone to a drop off too low to hear then back to a drone. Clint, unable to hear his own voice, suddenly looked confused, a well of fear beginning to rise.

“Yeah,” Pietro nodded, “you’ve hardly said anything . . . you just quiet?”

Licking his lips, Clint tried again, thinking maybe his voice just gave out from lack of use, “I don’t understand you . . . can you speak louder?” Again his voice was nothing but a feeling in his throat, and Clint paled, unaware of his own lack of inflection and wavering volume.

Looking really confused, Pietro shook his head; he couldn’t speak any louder or he’d attract the guards . . . he really didn’t want another detention. “We aren’t supposed to yell.”

Clint hesitated then asked, “Are you mute, maybe?” He had no idea what was wrong with his voice, but he did know it would be a hot day in the arctic before he went back to see Dr. Zola again.

“No . . . I’m not mute . . . can you not hear me?” Pietro hazarded . . . if Clint really couldn’t hear him, the question was pretty pointless.

“Um . . . you aren’t making any sound when you move your mouth,” Clint advised, truly worried. This place was so damn quiet, he should easily hear the silver-haired kid.

Becca, for her part, slipped behind the privacy curtain so she could relieve herself. This was going to be sheer hell, once more trying to hide her gender with a male roommate in a mostly exposed cell. She firmly pushed away thoughts of just how nice Bruce’s eyes were behind his metal-rimmed glasses.

“He’s deaf!” Bruce muttered, eyes widening as he figured out what had been bothering him.

“What?” Becca asked, having been lost in her own thoughts and not paying attention to the other cells. “Who’s deaf?” She zipped up and began washing at the small sink.

“Clint . . . the kid that isn’t speaking - - well, now he’s speaking . . . but he can’t hear what Pietro is saying,” Bruce exclaimed as he looked over at the cell next to them.

Walking out from behind the curtain, Becca did a doubletake, blushing, as she nearly ran into Bruce. She cleared her throat and ran a hand through her brown hair. “Uh, I didn’t think deaf people could hear themselves to speak?”

“They can’t . . . but if he lost his hearing due to an accident . . . he would’ve learned how to talk. How can he not realize he’s deaf? A doctor should’ve told him.” Bruce ran a hand through his hair, looking puzzled.

“Maybe he’s brain damaged, too?” She suggested. “Did anyone come in with him? Why’s he even here?” She looked across the corridor to Bucky, checking to see if her brother would quiet her again despite free time having been declared. Reaching for the binder, Becca opened it just to be sure Pierce would think she was being a responsible roommate if he came to check.

“He looks aware . . . I doubt they’d send a mentally handicapped here,” Bruce answered in his soft tone.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Becca corrected bitterly. “It’s about money and bodies.”

Bruce looked at the wall of the conjoining cell again and frowned thoughtfully.

The tall, thin black-haired boy in cell five called out, “perhaps he was injured and thought it was a temporary disability?” He was the boy that had been called Lucky, and his accent placed him as Scandinavian.

“He should see the doctor . . . maybe they’ll give him hearing aids?” Bruce suggested as he looked over at Beck.

Becca shook her head, eyes widening. “No,” she whispered. “He’s better off just faking it and praying he gets away with it. Never, never, go see Dr. Zola.” Her pale steel-blue eyes met Bruce’s brown ones with worry.

Frowning again, Bruce nodded, “Why?”

She glanced over at her brother again and lowered her voice to a mere whisper, leaning up to directly whisper in Bruce’s ear, her warm breath tickling down his neck. “He experiments on the kids.” She backed up, eyes wide, and glanced over at her brother with his damaged arm, the metallic-laced bones hidden beneath his twisted scars.

Bucky flexed his left arm, looking down at it. The muscles ached and throbbed, the lesson from earlier today had caused it to tremble. He shuddered as he recalled Dr. Zola slicing into his skin without anesthesia . . . luckily it hadn’t taken him long to pass out. Bucky let the arm fall into his lap, trying to hide the trembling limb from any unwanted eyes.

Riley looked worried and saw the tremor. He reached over and grabbed Bucky’s rule binder, opening it and laying it over his roommate's lap and hand. Then he climbed onto the top bunk to try to relax a bit before dinner and that night’s possible lessons.

Following Beck’s gaze to her brother, Bruce frowned and asked softly, “the doctor experimented on your brother?” The teen didn’t look very convinced.

Unsure how to convey all the horrors she’d experienced for the last year without being overheard by Pierce's staff, Becca leaned close to Bruce’s ear once more, her husky contralto kept low. “About five months ago, Bucky was injured by a guest professor . . . you’ll understand that later. Buck couldn’t use his arm at all and Pierce thought he might lose it. But Dr. Zola saved it.” She straightened to look worriedly at Bruce for comprehension.

Bruce looked at Beck with wide eyes and then snapped his head to look at Bucky.

Seeing that Bruce seemed to get it a little, she leaned close again. “He fused metal into Bucky’s bones to strengthen him once more, so Bucky can use it, though it’s not strong and tires him out. But,” she drew a breath, the hot air tickling over Bruce’s neck once more, “he did it without any medication because he’s . . . got . . . no . . . license.” Becca backed up again, but stayed close to hear her roommate’s response.

Snapping his eyes back to look at Beck with horror, Bruce stammered, “They operated - - oh, God. How did he . . . how didn’t they kill him?”

The sixteen year old girl shrugged and frowned. “Don’t know, but he’s always fighting infections, like every month or so.”

“His body is probably rejecting the metal . . . he needs a real doctor.” Bruce looked back at Bucky and winced in sympathy, “I cannot imagine how much pain he must be in . . . constantly.”

“He can’t get out of here until his guardian, the state in this case, removes him or he turns eighteen,” Becca informed her roommate in a more normal whisper, as that information wouldn’t get her punished. “And yeah, Bucky’s pretty strong . . . he doesn’t complain, which is good because Pierce doesn’t like whiners.”

“You know . . . when he does get out - - that’s grounds for a lawsuit plus shutting this place down.” Bruce lowered his tone to a quiet whisper.

Becca immediately put both hands over Bruce’s mouth. “Shhh!” Her eyes opened in absolute terror and she shook her head, despite the lowered tone Bruce used. “Don’t even think it!” she practically mouthed against Bruce’s ear. “If he thinks we’d do that, Bucky will wind up a teen suicide.”

Bruce flushed and nodded; he didn’t make any attempt to remove Beck’s hands.

So close to her roommate, Becca’s eyes met his and she slowly lowered her hands, her breath coming in small pants, face flushed and steel-blue eyes wide.

“I’m sorry . . . mouth was working too fast again.” Bruce looked apologetic.

“Yeah,” she breathed, “no filter. I remember.”

“Beck . . .” Bucky rasped out warningly.

The brunet girl instantly snapped her attention to her brother. Flushing brighter, she scuttled back from Bruce and climbed, shaking slightly, onto her top bunk. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Bruce stood in the middle of his cell, looking a bit shell-shocked, as he looked between the two siblings. Bucky was staring at him with a look of apprehension and anger; those steel eyes piercing through him. Bruce cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Down at the other end of the corridor of cells, in cell one, blond haired, blue eyed Sharon Carter stood by the cell door, looking not out at the other students but at the, as yet, silent redhead she would be rooming with. She wasn’t so sure anymore that her stepfather had such a good idea; attending the academy and keeping an eye on the other students for the staff had sounded so noble when she’d only thought the Pierce Academy had been a boarding school for rich rebels. But now, having witnessed the detention beatings and taste of the prison-like conditions, the straight A student wasn’t too comfortable playing _‘informant’_ for her stepfather, Alexander Pierce.

And on top of the overwhelming introduction to the darker side of boarding school, this quiet, watchful, unsmiling roommate actually almost scared the normally intrepid athletic blond. She hadn’t even yet gotten herself in hand enough to try to break through the girl’s silence.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Sharon took her courage in hand and stepped to the girl’s side, holding out a tanned hand. “Hello, Natasha, right? I’m Sharon. Natasha’s a lovely name. Russian? Maybe Ukrainian?”

Natasha turned to look at her roommate with a quirked brow; her bright green eyes held intensity. “Sharon Carter?”

“Yes,” the blond smiled and nodded. “My aunt was a politician, and my mother followed in her sister’s footsteps.”

The redhead trailed her eyes down Sharon’s body, not flirtatious, calculating. “You put too much weight on the front of your feet . . . easy to knock off balance.”

“Oh,” she said, unsure how to take that tip. Swallowing, she nodded and smiled, “thank you, Natasha. I appreciate the advise. Are you an athlete? I do track and field.”

Smiling, a wicked, cat-like smile, Natasha said, “I’ve been trained as a dancer all my life.”

“Dancing? I love dancing,” Sharon smiled wider, feeling relief to find a common interest. “Do you do modern or jazz?”

“Ballet,” Natasha offered and then turned her head to look out across the corridor again.

Sharon’s blue eyes widened and she breathed, “oh . . .”

Footsteps sounded down the corridor, attracting attention from almost every cell as the majority of inmates wondered if they would, yet again, be punished for an unknown infraction. However, the sight that greeted them was almost more disturbing that the security guards or Pierce.

Steve, his uniform bloody, dirty, torn, and askew limped down the corridor in front of his near immaculate roommate, Sam. Without comment, he walked over to the still open cell eleven, limping in without even looking around. He sank onto the bed, trying to ease his many bruises.

Bucky looked over at Steve, mouth dropping slightly as he took in the battered sight of the blond. Crawling over to the bars, the brunet knelt on the hard floor, ignoring his own injuries, “Steve . . . Steve . . . you okay?”

The blond looked up and grimaced. Carefully, softly, unaware of the free period they’d been awarded, he called back, “yeah, Buck. Me and Rollins came to an . . . understanding.” He winced. “I’m giving up lying.”

Eyes widening, Bucky looked at his old lover with a fearful expression, “An . . . understanding?”

Nodding, unaware of how his words might be taken, the blond answered, “yeah, I be good to him and he treats me right.” He leaned back against the wall at the head of his bunk. Steve groaned softly, wrapping an arm around his bruised ribs. “I hurt everywhere,” he said softly, hand going to caress his aching thigh.

Knowing the feeling all too well, Bucky winced in sympathy, “The first few days are always the roughest . . . they want to enforce the rules. After a couple weeks . . . things will die down a bit.”

TJ snorted from his cell, “yeah, sure they do,” the smaller twin shook his head and sat on the edge of the bottom bunk, wincing softly as he did so.

Johnny’s hands formed into fists at the sight of his cousin, Steve. He glanced back to TJ then to Steve again. A frown settled on his lean features.

Steve looked up as Sam entered the shared cell but glanced back over at Bucky, studying him carefully, making sure Rollins had kept his word to not hurt Bucky. Frowning, the large blond teen asked “you, Buck? You okay?”

Bucky, ignoring TJ’s comment, moved to wrap his left fingers around the bars in front of him, but the limb didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Frowning softly, Bucky nodded, “I’m . . . okay.”

Pushing to a sitting position, Steve frowned. “You sure? If you need anything, you come to me, Buck. I got this.” He watched his former lover with a worried frown.

“You can’t do anything to help me, Steve . . . not this time.” Bucky whispered, posture defeated.

“Yeah,” Steve leaned back against the wall, “yeah, I can. And I will. Trust me, Buck, I got you.” His quiet confidence flowed through his voice.

Bucky wanted to believe him . . . he really did. He wanted to believe that Steve would find a way out. But Bucky knew there was no escaping . . . he’d tried for months to get Beck, TJ, and himself out before giving up. The only way was turning eighteen or having a guardian remove you. “Okay, Steve,” the brunet whispered and then fell to sit on his butt, wincing as his sore ass met the hard floor. Bucky knew the dull ache, that hadn’t gone away, in his arm could mean one only thing . . . his body was trying to fight off another infection. It was only a matter of time before he’d get really sick again.

Riley watched Sam as the young man entered his cell across the corridor. Softly, worried but not wanting to make things hard on his former boyfriend, the blond called “You . . . you okay, Sam?” He knew what private lessons with the security guards entailed and hoped, prayed they’d gone easy on Sam for being new.

Sam smiled softly at Riley and then nodded, “Yes, Riley . . . I’m okay.”

“You . . . you sure? Uh . . . detention went . . . okay?” He frowned, moving to the bars of his cell to watch the pair in the still-open cell, eyes straying more often to the attractive black teen than the caucasian one.

“It went fine,” Sam answered quietly, not allowing himself to look at Steve. They both knew what their former lovers have been forced to endure here . . . and that knowledge broke Sam’s heart.

Finally nodding, Riley merely contented himself in studying the boy he’d been told had died . . . killed by Riley’s own sexual mischief. Now, they had a second chance. Maybe Sam would turn away from what Riley had been forced to become, a rapist and a slut, but at least there was a chance to renew, regrasp their friendship. The lean blond would be content with that; he would make sure he was comfortable with whatever, no matter how little, his former lover and boyfriend, his best friend, would give him. So, pushing away the guilt and shame, Riley merely embraced the knowledge that Sam stood there, healthy and whole.

Softly, he breathed out “you’re alive, Sammy.”

Smiling softly, Sam nodded, “Yeah, Riley . . . I’m right here, with you.”

“Wish I could . . . get closer,” Riley murmured, but didn’t dare express more than that, afraid of calling down the wrath of the staff.

“Riley,” Bucky muttered to his friend, shaking his head.

“I know, Buck,” Riley bowed his head, pressing his forehead against the cold metal, “students are not allowed to touch each other or they will be punished.”

Bucky flushed, thinking about the events that happened just hours ago.

A set of footsteps echoed down the hall, alerting the group that a staff member came, as all of the students had returned already.

Bucky scrambled off the floor and quickly moved to sit on his bunk.


	5. Teacher’s Pets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Injury, Infection, Emotional Abuse, Manipulation, Implied Sexual Assault, Drug Use, Anxiety, Self-loathing**

A tall, trim man with dark, receding hair and intense dark eyes in an angular, sallow face strode in. His every movement bespoke confidence and command. Looking over the students as he passed through without word, the man lifted an expressive brow upon noting Wade’s scars. He walked over to the room controls and opened the rest of the cells then strode to the middle of the corridor in front of cell eleven.

“Students,” the man spoke in accented English, a trace of German or other Slavic-type language echoing faintly in his words. “Tomorrow you will begin a rigorous schedule of mental and physical education designed to prepare you for careers in the outside world.” He looked over the students then claimed, “I will be testing your current levels today. If you will accompany me to the first floor humanities hall, we will proceed.” Falling silent, the man watched them as if he expected immediate obedience.

Becca slid from her bunk, with her binder, and walked into the hall, followed closely by Riley with his binder.

Bucky rose to his feet, but the sudden movement made him dizzy and he had to brace himself against the bunk to steady himself.

The staff member stared intently at Bucky. “Are you ill, Mr. Barnes?”

Swallowing the nausea that worked its way through his body, Bucky shook his head and grabbed his binder. “No, sir.”

With a soft frown which seemed more like a disappointed scowl, the man strode directly into the cell and reached a pale, dry hand over to place the back of it against Bucky’s forehead. “You are warm, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m okay, sir, really.” Bucky pushed not wanting to go see Dr. Zola . . . this day had been bad enough.

Withdrawing his hand, the teacher continued to frown at Bucky, studying him. Then, surprisingly since they were in front of the entire student body, the man asked “Is the pain in your rectum, penis, or arm, Mr. Barnes?”

Becca flushed at the personal, and leading, question.

Bucky ducked his head and blushed brightly, “No - - no pain, sir. I just got up too fast.”

Slowly, other students emerged from their cells, some with their binders as the senior students had demonstrated.

Finally, the man nodded once and whirled on his foot. He strode smartly, his posture almost that of a military man, from the cell and down the corridor, leading the twenty-four students towards the humanities lecture hall. He led them inside the vast room with the large open area at a low point before the semi-circle of raised benches and tables containing electronic tablets. The man turned and watched stoically as the students filed in, Becca and Riley sliding onto the seats marked with their cell numbers. Soon the other students followed suit.

Steve passed close to Bucky while moving to his own seat. “Bucky?” he whispered. “You sure you’re not . . . hurt from your . . . uh . . . earlier punishment?” He blushed.

Nearly puking right then and there, Bucky swallowed and shook his head, “No, I’m fine.”

The blond frowned but backed off, merely watching in concern.

TJ watched his twin closely, pale eyes filled with worry. He knew Bucky was getting sick from the constant infection in his arm, and it would be only a matter of time before the larger twin would have to go back to Dr. Zola.

Once the last student took his seat, the teacher stepped over to his lectern and began in his almost soothingly melodic voice. “Please pick up your tablet and enter your passcode, listed in your security binder, into the device. Once you have accessed the tablet open the icon which says _‘testing’_ and begin. You will have three hours to complete every question you can. This test does not result in a grade but in a placement. If you have need of me, I will be sitting up here.”

Bucky looked down at the tablet, focusing on the screen just made his nausea worse. He swallowed down what little of lunch he’d manage to eat that wanted to make it’s way back up.

Peter realized he couldn’t log in because he’d forgotten his binder with the passcode. Nervously, he raised his hand. “Sir?”

Glancing up from his chair, the teacher asked, “yes?”

“I need to go get my binder. I didn’t realize I would need it for this class,” the doe-eyed teen flushed.

Standing, the instructor said, “those who need to retrieve their binders stand and come with me. Mr. Barnes, you are in charge while we are gone.” He gave Bucky a small frown then led half the students from the hall.

Bucky closed his eyes and he prayed to whoever would listen that no one would cause any trouble . . . afraid that if he had to move or open his mouth he’d throw up.

“Bucky?” Becca whispered from nearby. “Want me to take over? I’m Mr. Barnes, too.”

Giving his sister a terse nod, Bucky kept his eyes closed and tried to push down his nausea.

Before anyone could do or say anything else, the group returned and settled once more. The teacher, however, walked up to stand in front of Bucky. Softly, frowning, he said, “Mr. Barnes, the eldest, accompany me. Mr. Barnes, the middle, watch the room.” The teacher stepped back to give Bucky room to rise.

Steve glanced over, worried, frowning.

With shaky legs, Bucky swiped his binder off the table and stood up. “Yes, sir,” the brunet mumbled; he had no idea what he’d done now . . . or if Mr. Schmidt was forcing him to see Dr. Zola.

Leading the student from the room, Johann Schmidt directed him with a silent hand to another room just down the hall. It held a large bed and simple furniture as well as a connecting full bathroom. Once inside, the man opened the bathroom door and gestured towards the shower-tub combo. “Strip and get into the tub.”

“Why, sir?” Bucky asked, feeling completely confused; for as long as Bucky had been at Pierce Academy, Mr. Schmidt had yet to mistreat any of the kids.

“Because, Mr. Barnes, you are about to either pass out or get sick, and neither would be good in the middle of the floor. I intend to bring down that fever and clean any wounds you have refused to admit to. Either you allow me to treat you, or I will send you to our resident . . . _‘doctor’_.”

Not needing any more convincing, Bucky removed his clothes as quickly as he could, folding them nicely and then setting the pile down on the sink counter.

Johann Schmidt walked over and firmly took Bucky’s arm, guiding him into the tub, helping him to actually lift each leg. “Sit down before you collapse, please.” He began running the water and testing it. “I have only three hours to do this, so try to cooperate.”

Nodding, Bucky slunk down to sit in the tub, bringing his knees to his chest. The movement sent another rush of nausea, causing the brunet to gag slightly.

“Good man,” the teacher praised as he removed his own uniform jacket and shirt. Settling a towel on the floor to kneel on, he reached over and touched Bucky’s knee with one long-fingered hand. “Breath slowly, Mr. Barnes. Relax and count your breaths silently. I am about to check your nether regions for injuries.”

Bucky, taking the teacher’s advice, began to take deep, steady breaths, counting them in his mind as he let them out. He wasn’t too happy about being naked in front of the instructor . . . but Schmidt hadn’t hurt him before and he prayed that the teacher wouldn’t start now.

“Good,” the teacher responded and carefully pushed the student’s legs apart and ran an impersonal hand down the boy’s ass and over his balls. He nodded. “You are inflamed and loose. You were given punishment or lessons recently,” he frowned, a disapproving look on his face.

“Both,” Bucky muttered, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“At least you are clean,” Schmidt said. “Let me look at your arm.” He held out his hand, the other braced on the edge of the tub, once more leaving Bucky’s genitalia alone.

Lifting the arm, slowly as if the limb were made of lead, Bucky winced at the movement. “Been throbbing today, sir,” he reported honestly, hoping that the small complaint wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

“Yes, have you had time to even look at it in your busy schedule? The scars are pulling and there’s a bit of leakage around the scabs.” Johann frowned and touched one of the spots he referred to.

Hissing slightly as Schmidt prodded the tender spot, Bucky attempted to pull away.

The teacher’s hands held firmly and Bucky wasn’t able to move away. After the boy gave up, Johann began again, prodding harder, pushing pus from the wound. He frowned deeply and leaned over to the small stand holding towels by the tub. He opened the drawer and pulled out the first aid kit, selected a wrapped scalpel of tiny proportions, and unwrapped the sharp blade.

Bucky’s eyes widened at the tool and he frantically shook his head, “please, sir! No! Please!”

Raising his dark eyes to meet the fearful lighter ones, Johann merely said, with a calm voice, “You need this drained by someone, Mr. Barnes.” He began to cut carefully along the scabs, cutting them off and releasing a mix of foul pus and fresh blood. As he finished, the man pushed around the wounds to make sure everything had come out.

Whimpering slightly, Bucky clamped his eyes shut, the horrors of Dr. Zola’s operation fresh in his mind once again.

“If you get sick, I will wash you and the tub, so go ahead,” the man commented softly.

As if he’d been waiting for permission, Bucky found himself doubling over and retching what little food he’d managed to eat earlier.

As the boy continued to vomit then heave, the instructor continued working on the infected, damaged arm. He finally took up a soft cloth and began washing, with soap, the open wounds he’d made.

Bucky bit down hard on his lip to keep in the scream that wanted to break past his lips.

Glancing up, Johann offer a different cloth to the boy. “Use this. I am almost done this part and will need to finish.”

Taking the cloth, Bucky stuffed the cloth into his mouth, biting down hard, muffling the screams.

Once Bucky had prepared, Johann continued washing the wounds. He finished a few minutes later and rinsed them under the freely running tub water. Finally, he wrapped a towel around Bucky’s arm to carefully pat it dry. “Hold that there while I wash you, Mr. Barnes.” Schmidt helped Bucky to stand and lean on the wall.

Pulling the cloth out of his mouth, Bucky wrapped his hand around the towel on his left arm.

Satisfied with the obedience, the teacher made short work of cleaning the blood and vomit from the student. Then he walked Bucky carefully from the tub, lifting each leg for the boy in turn. As Bucky stood, shivering, on the floor towel, Johann dried him quickly. At last, he led the boy to the toilet and sat him down. “Breath. I am nearly finished.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bucky said genuinely. The teacher hadn’t forced himself on Bucky and the brunet hated to think he might actually like the mythology instructor. Schmidt didn’t seem to approve of everything that happened here at Pierce Academy . . . and for that, Bucky was grateful.

Carefully, the man unwrapped the towel from Bucky’s bloody limb and tossed it into the sink. He pulled the first aid kit over and began putting antibiotics on the wounds. Finally, he dressed the arm, wrapping the bandages securely. Standing, he said, “catch your breath so you do not get sick again. There is a cup and toothbrush and paste on the sink. Once you are ready, bring your clothing to the bedroom and dress appropriately. I will join you as soon as I finish tidying the room.” The man walked over to the tub to begin scrubbing, the light gleaming over his pale back and muscular arms.

Bucky slowly stood up and walked over to the sink, happy to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. Looking down, Bucky saw the bloody towel that had been wrapped around his arm and grimaced. Picking it up, the brunet called softly, “Sir? Where would you like me to put this?”

“Leave it in the sink. Use cold water to do your teeth. I will clean that after I finish the tub,” the man softly instructed, careful not to mess up his trousers as he worked.

Setting the towel back into the sink, Bucky turned on the cold water and grabbed the toothbrush. Quickly, he wet the bristled end and shut off the water, knowing better than to waste anything. The brunet began to brush his teeth, making sure to scrub his tongue to get as much of the awful taste out of his mouth.

The man and boy finished their tasks at the same time, Johann rinsing the tub one last time then turning to the naked teen. “Good, get dressed in the other room. I will clean the laundry and sink and join you shortly.”

Nodding, Bucky grabbed his clothes from the counter and walked into the bedroom. The brunet pulled on his underwear, using the bed to help steady himself. He slowly finished getting dressed and was in the middle of knotting his tie when the teacher entered the room, buttoning up his own uniform shirt as he walked, tie and jacket over one strong arm.

“Are you feeling weak, Mr. Barnes?” he asked as he tucked his shirt into his trousers and fastened his belt.

“A little . . . I’m sure it’ll pass, though,” Bucky answered honestly as he smoothed down his tie.

“Really couldn’t get enough this morning now could you, James?” Pierce asked smoothly as he strode into the room.

Just as smoothly, calmly, Johann responded, “you asked me to test the students on their aptitudes, Alexander. Mr. Barnes is quite skilled, I will say.” And with that, the teacher walked over to Bucky and put a hand behind his waist, tugging him in for a kiss.

Bucky’s eyes widened as Schmidt’s mouth met his; his immediate reaction was to push away the instructor but the brunet could feel there wasn’t any emotion behind the kiss. This was all an act . . . why Schmidt was lying to Pierce, Bucky couldn’t begin to guess but the teen decided to play it out.

“Well, he has been trained well,” Pierce confirmed, eyeing Bucky with something akin to jealousy and deep thought. Finally, he nodded. “Well, you should both get back to the other testing. Fortunately our students are well behaved at the moment.” The headmaster crossed his arms and stared intently at the student he favored above the others.

Hanging his head, Bucky knew he’d be punished for this later . . . Pierce didn’t like to share without express permission.

“Of course, Alexander. Do you wish me to test Mr. Riley’s aptitude, as well?” Schmidt drew his hand back from Bucky’s waist, as if reluctant. “And the other Mr. Barnes’?”

“No, I tested Kestrel earlier and Thomas has just come from the doctor. Perhaps I neglected to inform you of that,” Pierce conceded. “James, as you have been tested twice, you will have to forgo tonight’s lesson. I am sorry, but you need to rest.” The strawberry blond man eyed Bucky’s entire body then nodded. “Schmidt, next time you will confirm all testing or private lessons before engaging with James. He is a special case.”

Flushing, Bucky continued to hang his head, but he felt a spark of happiness at being excused from private lessons that evening.

“Of course, Alexander. Forgive my enthusiasm. I was too eager to . . . engage with such a prized student.” The man bowed in a very formal, European gesture towards Pierce and then straightened, sliding his jacket on and following it with his tie, which he fixed without a mirror. “Come, Mr. Barnes. You will finish your testing in the lecture hall.” And Schmidt walked out without even looking back at Bucky.

Pierce grabbed Bucky’s right arm and frowned. “You had him in you or did you fuck him, James?” he growled.

With wide eyes, Bucky shook his head, “sir . . . he - - he was in me. Students are never supposed to be inside teachers.” The brunet’s voice wavered and his head spun from being grabbed.

“Good,” Pierce hissed. “You remember that, James. I’ll not have you inside anyone else!” The headmaster straightened his own tie and strode out. “Get back to class, whore,” he growled.

Bucky flushed and ducked his head; he’d been at the academy for a year and he still wasn’t used to being called derogatory names; whereas, it seemed like TJ always let the vicious jabs roll off him, Bucky always felt dirty and disgusting when he was acknowledged in that way. “Yes, sir . . . I’m sorry, sir.” The brunet walked out of the bedroom and headed back in the direction of the classroom.

Mr. Schmidt walked back into the classroom buttoning his jacket. He stepped over to his chair and sat down, letting his eyes rove over the students to check on them. Becca and Riley didn’t look very happy, and Steve looked positively sick. TJ glared at the Mr. Schmidt, pale eyes lit with fury.

Shuffling back into the room, Bucky sank into his seat with a wince as his left arm hit the table.

Standing slowly, Schmidt strolled over to Bucky and said “open you mouth, Mr. Barnes.” His voice sounded as calm and detached as always.

Looking up at the teacher with a confused expression, Bucky obeyed and opened his mouth slightly.

Johann popped three pills into the waiting mouth then nodded. “Make sure you ingest those, Mr. Barnes. They are your reward for good . . . test results.”

Becca looked like she was ill by then, too.

TJ looked downright furious; his hands balled into fists and he wanted to scream at the teacher. Bucky had _never_ been forced to take drugs before and TJ couldn’t stand by and let Mr. Schmidt get Bucky addicted to anything.

Bucky blushed, knowing how all this must sound to all the other students, but he nodded and swallowed the pills dry. “Thank you, sir,” the brunet muttered, eyes locking on Schmidt, unable to look at anyone else.

“You have two hours left, students,” Schmidt said, “and if you test well, you may be rewarded as well.” He looked back at his own tablet at that.

Looking over at Bucky, then at the muscular blond sitting next to him, Sam frowned. Teachers giving out drugs as rewards for sleeping with them? This school really _was_ hell.

At the end of the third hour, Johann stood and cleared his throat politely. “Tablets down, please. This portion of your afternoon tests has finished.” He strode back to the podium in the front center of the room. “Let me explain how classes work in this academy.” He looked at each student. “You all go to classes together but your lessons are individual. You will carry your tablet everywhere and you must login to get your schedules for appointments or your lessons or turn in your homework.” He paused and looked over the class.

“If you misplace your tablet, you will be punished. If you do not finish your assignments, you will be punished. If you break the rules listed in your binder, you will be punished.” Johann looked at the wall behind the students and intoned, in an emotionless voice, “punishments are what the staff member chooses to assign at the time.” He paused then added, “private lessons are also scheduled on your tablet and you will not miss these unless you have reported to medical. Does anyone have questions about what I have just informed you of?” He looked back down at the class.

A slim, redheaded girl from table two raised her hand slowly, looking around the room and flushing slightly.

“Yes?” The man asked the girl. “State your name and question, please.”

“Virginia Potts, sir . . . what - - what is your name, sir?” She asked, lowering her hand.

“How remiss of me, Miss Potts. My name is Johann Schmidt, and I am the Humanities Professor. I instruct histories and mythologies.” Schmidt nodded once. “Student in seat seven. What is your question?”

Pietro’s eyes widened and he looked over at Clint, who’d actually raised his hand. The silver-haired teen wanted to pull it down.

Clint did not respond to the teacher; however, just sitting, looking lost around at the other students.

Elbowing the blond gently, Pietro motioned to Schmidt with a tilt of his head.

Nodding, frowning softly, Clint looked back up at the teacher. “Why is everyone messing with me? Can’t they talk normally?”

Bruce closed his eyes and pushed his glasses up further. There was no way that Clint wouldn’t be sent to medical now . . . and from his conversation with Becca . . . medical was not somewhere that students wanted to be sent.

Schmidt frowned. He walked from his podium to the student and studied him. Finally, he grabbed Clint’s head and turned it back and forth, as the other students watched in horrified confusion Finally, the teacher asked, “does anyone know this boy?”

“I think he’s having a hard time hearing people, sir,” Pietro supplied nervously, eyes flickering between his roommate and the instructor.

“That is not surprising, young man,” the teacher answered. “The scarring around his ears is horrendous. I believe it looks as if he’s been in an explosion.” He frowned. “Do you know his name? What his history might be?” Schmidt looked at the silver-haired teen, letting go of Clint’s chin.

Shaking his head, Pietro offered apologetically, “no, sir. We haven’t really been able to communicate with one another. He keeps saying that no sound comes out of my mouth when I try and talk to him.”

“Most likely he ruptured his eardrums and has gone deaf,” Johann conceded. He strode back to his chair, and lifted his briefcase. Opening it, he removed a notebook and pen. He walked back to Clint and laid them on the table, pointing at the book. With the pen, he wrote, “my name is Professor Johann Schmidt. What is your name?”

Blinking, Clint looked to the notebook then the teacher then the notebook. Suddenly, he went pale as the information finally sunk in. If a teacher was writing things down . . . it was Clint who had the problem, not the others. Eyes widening, the stocky blond looked around at the other students in horror.

Natasha watched the horror-stricken teen with intense green eyes. She didn’t look at the teacher; she never took her eyes off the blond. She gave the blond teen a curt nod, eyes darting to the notebook and then back to Clint’s face quickly.

Slowly, having seen the unknown girl’s action, Clint turned around and answer the question both verbally and in a very nice script. “My name is Clint Barton. My house blew up and I think I’m deaf now? Where am I? Why am I here?”

Schmidt frowned.

Bucky sighed and looked down at his hands. He couldn’t imagine being thrown into this place with no idea what was going on . . . just being yelled at and beaten for no reason. Clint had to be scared and confused . . . really, really confused.

“I see,” Schmidt wrote in his neat, block letters. “You will be my pet.”

Confusion raced over Clint’s face and he wrote and said, “pet? I’m not a dog.”

Stiffening at the word, Bucky let out a small, strangled noise. Schmidt never hurt a student before . . . the teacher literally had just been in a room with him alone and hadn’t so much as hinted at anything inappropriate until Pierce had come in. There was only one reason why a teacher would claim a _pet_ and that was to use the student for sex and other sadistic pleasures.

Johann nodded and wrote, “you are my special student and will attend me when not in other classes. At any other class than mine, you will walk in, sit down, and turn on your tablet. Work quietly, do not ask questions even if confused. You will ask me any questions you have, so I might correct you.”

The blond looked puzzled but nodded and said, “okay.”

“Yes, sir,” Schmidt wrote, and Clint nodded, understanding rather quickly now that someone had found a way to communicate.

“Yes, sir,” he repeated.

Schmidt took the paper and pen away and returned them to his briefcase then walked back to the podium. He watched the students a moment then asked, “any other questions?”

Tony raised his well-manicured hand. “Yes, sir,” he said without waiting for the teacher to acknowledge him. “When can I have my phone call?”

Bucky shook his head and looked at the billionaire with a mildly incredulous look. Had the spoiled brat really not understood how things worked around here?

TJ snorted loudly and looked at Tony with an amused smirk.

“Phone call?” Johann Schmidt repeated slowly, looking emotionless.

“Yeah,” he answered, “I wanna call Obi and get outta here. I can assure you that I will never take another drink if it means never setting foot back in this hell hole.”

Bucky wanted to laugh. He really did. The kid may be spoiled but that took guts. The brunet didn’t know if Schmidt would punish Tony for speaking like that . . . but Bucky didn’t think he’d ever heard someone speak to a teacher _here_ like that, except TJ.

“Ah, unfortunately for you, young man, you are _not_ in jail, nor are you in a regular juvenile facility. You have correctly identified where you are. _Hell_. And as such, you cannot leave nor are you granted access to the public. Your tablets are restricted and do not have internet capabilities. You will find no phones, even land lines, here. And only one vehicle sits in the garage, Mr. Pierce’s private car. Walking might be an option, if you can get past the security gates, electrified barbed wire, trained guard dogs, and the guards themselves. There are cameras in every room, including the bathrooms, but not at the toilets or showers, by law, and you have little to no privacy as all rooms have microphones which are randomly monitored. Thus, you will have to ask a staff member to smuggle your message or your person out of here.” He paused and stared directly at Tony. “I can assure you, none of us are inclined to aid in a school exodus.”

He looked back at the class and, as if Tony’s question had been perfectly reasonable, Johann asked, “any other questions, please?”

Bucky stared at the teacher, trying to gauge what Schmidt was doing. The man had just listed all of Pierce Academy’s security protocols; did Johann want Tony to figure out a way to escape? No teacher had ever laid out all the security measures for the students . . . Bucky tried to log away all the information.

As no one seemed inclined to ask anything else in the light of such horrifying, overwhelming news about their true helplessness, Johann nodded. “Very well. It is time for your evening meal. Please take your binders and tablets back to your rooms then report to the dining hall.”

Steve stood, body aching from the severe beating he’d had earlier but not showing the pain. After what he’d already experienced, he suspected showing weakness invited more punishment. Instead, he scooped up his tablet and binder and took two steps towards the door then paused and looked at the other students.

Slowly, Bucky got to his feet, grabbing his binder and tablet as he did so. The brunet wasn’t completely sure what Johann had given him, but the throbbing in his arm and ass had gone down to a manageable level. He began to walk out of the room, heading towards the cells.

Becca shot to her feet as soon as her brother stood, intent on sticking close to him after the many times he’d been separated from the group for punishment. She wasn’t stupid; she knew what happened behind the closed door in those private encounters. So far, Becca had been spared such an encounter, and she suspected Bucky or TJ had made some sort of arrangement to spare her such attacks. She wasn’t sure she liked the entire set up, but she was glad her big brothers had been protecting her, even if that felt selfish. So, she would do what she could for them, including making sure Bucky didn’t appear weak in the halls or anything. TJ never seemed at a disadvantage for being weak, just Bucky.

When they’d first arrived the previous year, the semester had already begun, so they never got this kind of testing and introduction speech. If they had, Bucky wouldn’t have tried so many times to get out in those early weeks . . . weeks that had inevitably wound up drawing Pierce’s direct attention down on the hapless teen . . . resulting in Bucky becoming Pierce’s special project, his _pet_.

Not looking at anyone as he walked back to his cell to set down his things, Bucky knew what everyone must think of him. _Weak. Disgusting. Whore._ Even if nothing had really happened between him and Schmidt, he knew what it looked like . . . and he couldn’t dare look at any of the other students.

A hand brushed Bucky’s lower back as the students got to the cells. Surprisingly it was Clint. His worried eyes met the other boy’s and he carefully, silently mouthed a word at Bucky, pointing to himself.

Brows pulling down in confusion, Bucky shook his head softly, “What?” The brunet’s tone was barely a whisper . . . he knew Clint couldn’t hear him but he hadn’t understood what the blond boy had been asking him.

The younger teen pointed back to the hallway they’d come down, then pointed to himself, widening his eyes as if he were terrified. He mouthed the same word, starting with his lips pressed together for a hard sound. His expression went back to just worried, so the look of terror had been part of trying to communicate. He still made absolutely no sounds, except an almost inaudible buh or puh sound at the beginning.

Eyes widening with understanding, Bucky looked down at his tablet and unlocked it, opening the word editing app. Looking around to make sure there weren’t any teachers nearby, Bucky carefully typed out, _‘pet?’_

Clint saw the word and nodded.

Erasing the single word, Bucky typed out another sentence, _‘Mr. Schmidt is nice. Hasn’t hurt a student. I don’t think he’ll hurt you. Just listen to what he says.’_

Clint reached over and quickly typed out two words on Bucky’s tablet. _‘Buttons. Pills.’_ He dropped his hand and raised his face to look at Bucky.

Nodding, Bucky took a deep breath, looking around again before typing out, _‘Schmidt was helping me. I’m sick. Helped me lowered my fever.’_

Understanding crossed Clint’s face and he gave the older teen a thumbs up. Then, as quickly and quietly as he’d come up behind Bucky, the boy slid back into the crowd of students and put his own stuff down in his cell. He then quickly hurried out towards the dining hall.

Shaking his head, Bucky made his way into his own cell.

Riley stood there, frowning worriedly. Softly, he said “Schmidt? I wouldn’t have guessed.” He turned and put his stuff down. “He . . . nicer than the others at least?”

Flushing a bright red, Bucky shook his head and said just as quietly, “He didn’t do anything. He - - he helped me with my fever.”

Looking at Bucky with surprise, Riley asked very softly, “you still gonna get sick? Is he going to make you go to Zola?” He walked out of the cell but watched his roommate.

Following Riley out, Bucky shrugged, “I don’t know . . . I hope not. He didn’t seem to like Zola very much.”

“Who would have thought? They eat their meals together,” Riley snorted.

“Are you okay, Buck?” Steve asked softly from behind the pair.

Jumping at the added voice, Bucky whirled around and looked up at Steve. “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine, Steve. Thank you.”

With a worried nod, Steve didn’t push like Riley had. He accepted Bucky’s words but continued walking behind him while they walked up to the dining hall. As they slipped into their seats at the table, he whispered, “you gonna be able to eat?”

Bucky frowned softly and looked down at the empty plate in front of him; he didn’t particularly feel hungry but he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up anymore either.

Finally, as the students sat down and looked expectantly at the head table, Pierce stood and smiled his oily smile. “Welcome back. By tomorrow morning we should have your schedules arranged. For tonight, you will be free after your supper to explore your tablets and what resources are available to you. Please do this activity in your rooms unless you are asked for a private lesson with a teacher.” He nodded at the staff to serve the students, rich bowls of beef stew with fresh rolls and butter. This time there was no sugar on the tables. “Conversation rules are as they were for lunch. Quiet, but no talking around each other, only those across or beside. Enjoy.” He sank back into his own seat at the head table.

Bucky slowly spooned a mouthful of the hot stew and kept his eyes down, still not wanting to look at anyone.

Softly, Steve took advantage of the rules to talk to Bucky, who sat across from him at a slight diagonal. “Bucky? What’s your favorite subject here?” The conversation would be perfectly acceptable to any passing staff member and encourage polite communication, both things Pierce would approve of.

Setting down his spoon, Bucky’s eyes flickered over to where Pierce sat and then back to Steve. “I - - uh . . . history?” The brunet simply blurted out the first subject that had come to mind . . . and with the events with Schmidt still fresh, he quickly chose one of Johann’s subjects.

Nodding, Steve smiled softly. “And I thought I was the history buff,” he laughed.

Letting out a small, nervous laugh, Bucky nodded and picked up his spoon again to take another bite. After a moment, the brunet asked softly, “how was your test today? Did you get through all the questions?”

Steve nodded and offered a puzzled look, but not for the question, for the subject. “Yeah, but I had to guess on some of them, Bucky. Not sure who here would know so much math.” He rolled his eyes. “It looked like a college exam.”

“Call me James at the table, Steven.” Bucky corrected softly, not looking up . . . the last thing he needed was Pierce overhearing Steve use his nickname.

“Sorry,” Steve responded. “I didn’t mean to be rude . . . James.” Steve wasn’t insulted, he was worried. He hoped not to get any more detentions, or to force Bucky into any either. “James, did you get time to finish your testing?” It was the closest he dared mention the _‘private’_ lesson that Bucky had privately told Riley was Johann Schmidt helping. Steve’s ears were good enough that he’d heard Riley right in front of him.

Cringing slightly, Bucky shook his head, “no . . . but I’m sure they’ll use some of my results from last year . . . plus Mr. Schmidt evaluated my strengths during our private lesson,” the brunet lied, he had to keep the story up . . . Pierce couldn’t know Johann had actually been helping Bucky.

Nodding, a soft frown over his features, the muscular blond said, “Mr. Rollins evaluated mine earlier.” He shook his head. “Do all the teachers give . . . private lessons . . . to all the students? Or do they claim personal . . . um . . . well . . . like Mr. Schmidt claimed Clinton?”

“All teachers can give out private lessons to any of the students . . . claimed or not . . . if the student happens to be claimed the teacher will just have to ask . . .” Bucky’s voice trailed off, thinking of all the times the other teachers had asked Pierce’s permission . . . Schmidt being the only one Bucky never had private lessons with.

“Ask the claimant?” Steve filled in with a sigh. “Mr. Rumlow said Riley had,” he looked up to meet Bucky’s steel blue eyes with worried vibrant blue ones, “double lessons, too. I mean, two lessons at the same time. And that he was waiting until he got permission for you to do the same thing.”

Hearing the conversation, Riley flushed but didn’t say a word.

Now Bucky felt like getting sick. He looked over at Riley and then back at Steve; he figured it was only a matter of time before Rumlow’s request got approved . . . Bucky winced at the thought. If he thought Riley had hurt . . . Rumlow and Rollins together would be agony. He tried not to think about the fact that TJ often had joint lessons with Brock and Jack. “Yes,” he answered softly with a pained nod.

“Is that common?” Steve leaned slightly closer. “And what about Beck? Or Thomas? Have they . . .” the blond couldn’t finish the question; the thought of Becca being so horribly raped made his stomach turn as much as the idea of Bucky or TJ suffering it.

“No,” Bucky actually growled, shoulders immediately tensing. “No . . . Beck has a different set of talents . . . unlike mine.” Bucky chanced a glance over at his twin, who simply ate his stew, not looking up. “Thomas is in the same lessons as me and Riley,” he said softly, eyes meeting with his old boyfriend’s.

“Don’t know if that’s better or worse,” Steve muttered towards his food.

“It’s better,” Riley bit out, eyes avoiding Sam at Steve’s revelations. “Sometimes they choose students for other lessons, depending on manual dexterity or cleverness or whatever. Those who don’t qualify get the other kind, like James and I.” He scooped up more stew.

Bucky couldn’t force himself to look at Steve . . . all his shame bubbling up in his chest.

“Yes,” Steve replied, recalling Riley’s earlier correction to Sam’s slang. “Mr. Rollins said he had a special lesson planned for me, too, but needed to get clearance first.” He sighed and prodded his food, knowing he didn’t want to waste the good stew, but not feeling particularly hungry at the moment.

Paling, Bucky looked up at Steve with wide eyes. He hadn’t heard of either Rollins or Rumlow taking up a personal pet . . . and he was terrified of what that meant for Steve.

“Are we going to meet the other teachers tomorrow?” Steve finally asked and forced more food into his mouth. Out of all the places he’d been to in the last year, all the people he’d rebelled against, Steve felt rebelling against this place would end very badly. He needed to protect Bucky, TJ, Becca, and Johnny, so he would behave here.

“Yes,” Bucky nearly whimpered . . . unable to get his mind past the revelation of Rollins’ interest in the beautiful blond.

Riley quietly asked, “Samuel? Has a teacher told you you will be getting private lessons?” He felt sympathy for Steve, but his real concern lay with his former lover whom he’d just discovered he hadn’t really killed six months before.

Sam shook his head, “No . . . not really? At least no one has told me anything.”

“Rumlow didn’t specify?” Riley felt relief wash over him. Of all the staff, aside from Zola, Rumlow was the most sadistically inclined.

“No . . . he didn’t,” Sam answered, blushing and ducking his head, staring intently at his bowl of stew.

“That’s good,” Riley said. “I don’t have a private teacher, either. That means my lessons aren’t every day like those who have been claimed.” He shot Bucky a sympathetic look.

Bucky’s eyes fell again, not wanting to look at Steve. The blond wasn’t stupid . . . Steve knew what happened in his private lessons.

“God,” Steve’s voice came barely audible, “I don’t think I’ll survive Rollins’ private _lessons_ every day.” Seriously, if he had to get beaten like that all the time, Steve was afraid he’d wind up in a back alley, unrecognizable and dead.

“The first few lessons are the worse. He’s going to try to break you,” Bucky’s eyes held all the pain he felt.

Still muttering, unable to meet his best friend’s eyes, Steve said softly, “I think he already did.” That was the most surprising admission the scrappy, angry teen could have made to those who knew him.

Actually letting a small gasp break past his lips, Bucky looked at Steve with a look akin to horror. “What?” The brunet leaned slightly over the table, “How - - how did he . . . he hasn’t been - - you haven’t even been here a day?”

Steve lifted his eyes and sighed. “He figured out just where to hurt me worst. Even his stick wasn’t so bad until he figured out my soft spot.” Steve flushed and looked down.

Bucky stiffened and fell against the back of his chair . . . not taking his eyes off of Steve.

The tall blond, still used to being a scrawny, sickly little guy, shoveled more of the rich stew into his mouth, tasting cardboard and ash in his humiliation. He suddenly couldn’t meet the eyes of his oldest and dearest friend. If he’d been forced to spread his legs for Rollins, the blond probably could’ve handled that . . . but to have the man threaten Bucky, Steve couldn’t bear the thought at all. Yeah, the man had figured out the rebellious teen before half an hour had gone by.

Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from Steve; the look in the blond’s face . . . the bruise forming at the nape of his neck . . . the way his shoulders seemed to slump in defeat. What had Rollins found on Steve that could break him? What had been so bad that the once proud, fearless blond now catered to the need of a bully?

“Having an educational discussion, gentlemen?” Pierce’s smooth voice broke over the uncomfortable silence from behind Bucky and Riley. He had moved so quietly, it wasn’t even certain how much he might have overheard.

Freezing, Bucky’s eyes widened with horror and he didn’t dare turn to look at the older man behind him. “Y - - yes, sir.”

“And are you instructing the new students in the regulations and expectations, James? Kestrel?”

“Yes, sir,” Riley immediately answered, worry in his sea-green eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Bucky muttered, eyes falling to his bowl again.

“Oh, yeah, they are giving lots of _instructions_ ,” TJ piped up, voice laced with venom as he looked down at his stew.

Ignoring TJ, as he often did, Pierce said, “Well, you will be happy for your fellow students, James, Kestrel, to know that I have had two requests for permission to give special daily lessons. Steven, Mr. Rollins feels you will benefit from special tutelage. Mr. Schmidt will be taking on Clinton. Aren’t you pleased they have achieved such prominence so quickly, James?” The man smiled in an expression not far off from a cold, deadly shark.

Swallowing, Bucky nodded, “yes, sir . . . you were right, sir . . . this is a good group of students.”

Riley bowed his head and, relieved it wasn’t Sam, and feeling selfish for that relief, said “yes, sir. Congratulations Steven.”

“Oh,” Peirce made a moue of amusement, “not jealous are you, Kestrel?”

“No, sir. Apparently they are more deserving. I will keep trying,” Riley answered, head still down.

Bucky’s fingers tightened on his spoon, turning his knuckles white. His eyes clamped shut as he tried to push away the images of Rollins hurting . . . raping Steve. Rollins wasn’t as sadistic as Rumlow, but the man wasn’t anywhere near gentle.

“Thank you, sir,” Steve finally said, his voice strained. He didn’t lift his face to look at the headmaster.

Smiling benevolently over the students, Pierce nodded. “You will report to Mr. Rollins tonight after supper, Steven. He is most eager to begin your lessons.” Laying a hand on the back of Bucky’s chair, Pierce added, “and recall, James, as punishment for your recent defiance, you are not enjoying tonight’s lesson. I will receive you instead tomorrow.”

Relief crossed Steve’s face at those words.

“Yes, sir . . . of course,” Bucky murmured as he finally opened his eyes.

Lifting his hand away from Bucky’s chair, the man walked down the length of the table then back to the front of the room. “Finish soon, students. You have ten minutes before private lessons or room study begins.” The man sat gracefully in his chair.

Bucky looked at Steve with wide, pitiful eyes.

Taking a deep breath, knowing that as he cooperated with his new private master he could protect his oldest friend, Steve finally lifted his eyes and nodded once. He looked determined.


	6. Afterhour Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Psychological torture, rape, forced cum eating, violence**

As dinner finished, Rollins came up behind Steve’s chair and firmly gripped the teen’s shoulders, “You ready for our lessons, Steven?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve immediately stood, putting down his spoon and napkin. He gave Bucky a small smile, not looking as broken as he’d claimed to be. “Thank you, sir.”

“Good boy,” Rollins stepped aside to let the blond teen step in front of him.

Without complaint, Steve walked from the room in front of Rollins, head high and shoulders back, looking rather beautiful in his teen defiance. But once he made it to the hall, Steve’s posture took on a slump of obedient defeat.

Rollins lead Steve into a large room on the bottom floor; the walls were covered in thick concrete and there were plush mats spread throughout the room. The guard motioned to an outfit that sat folded on a chair by one of the mats, “Put it on. Don’t wanna get your uniform bloody.”

Steve stripped as quickly as his aching body allowed, folding the clothes in a rough version of neat. He’d never really been taught to fold his own clothes. The blond started pulling on the black sweatpants over his regulation boxer shorts. He pulled the white tank top over his head and mentally noted that he’d been provided no shoes or socks. Finally, he turned to the security guard.

Taking off his own shoes and socks, then stepping onto one of the mats, Rollins gestured for Steve to step forward. “Come on up, Mr. Tough Guy.”

“Sir?” Steve stepped onto the same mat.

With lighting speed, Rollins got into a fighting stance and then struck Steve’s abdomen with a clenched fist.

Steve doubled over and protectively wrapped his arms around his gut. He didn’t even try to fight back nor did he say a word.

Keeping the offensive stance, Rollins smirked, “You see, Steven . . . I think you have so much more potential than just spreading your legs like Bucky Boy does.”

“Yes, sir,” he gasped softly, still doubled over.

“Stand up straight, Steven,” Rollins barked out, shifting a little to the right.

Letting go of his stomach, Steve straightened up. He looked over Rollins’ shoulder and waited patiently.

“Look at me when I speak to you . . . or should I go get your boyfriend to come join us?” Rollins sneered, lifting his fists slightly. 

“Sir,” Steve said and looked down at Rollins, the blue slightly dulled.

“Good . . . as I was saying,” Rollins said, “I think you could be a very great help to us staff members. You see, we have _such_ a hard time putting up with you brats and I think that’s where you can step in. You’d like that, right, Steven? Help us staff members keep control and order?”

Hesitating, Steve frowned. He wasn’t too certain he liked how this was heading. He’d thought Rollins had merely wanted someone to beat on . . . not inside muscle against the other students. Bucky’s face came to his memory and Steve knew he’d have to obey. Taking a deep breath, Steve said, “yes, sir.”

Rollins smiled and swiped his leg out, kicking at the blond’s feet. As the tall teen fell, the guard leered over him, “Good. See? I knew you’d cooperate. Mr. Pierce wasn’t too sure . . . but when I told him about your past with Bucky Boy . . . well, he was quite interested about that.”

Steve immediately pushed back to his feet and stood straight. He didn’t answer, keeping his eyes on Rollins’ face, hands loose at his sides.

“I don’t want a punching bag, Steven. I have plenty of those.” Rollins looked down at Steve’s hands and then back at his face, “Come on . . . show me your stance . . . I’m sure you’ve been taught on how to hold yourself in a fight, yes?”

“No, sir,” he responded. “I never had a fighting lesson.” He watched the teacher carefully.

Huffing, Rollins lowered his hands and then stepped closer to Steve, “Widen your legs, plant them firmly, raise your fists . . . like this,” the guard demonstrated the stance for the blond to copy.

Nodding once, Steve copied what the guard showed him, right down to keeping his thumbs outside of his fists. He let his knees bend slightly, allowing for quick movement, but stayed in the spot he’d been told to take.

“Good man,” Rollins nodded in approval and then stepped off the mat to ruffle through a duffel bag near the edge. Pulling out two gloves, the guard put them on and stepped in front of Steve again, holding out his protected hands, crouching slightly, “Come on, Mr. Tough Guy, show me what you got.”

“Sir?” Steve blinked, but didn’t change his stance. “You want me to hit you?”

“I can bring Bucky Boy in here? Maybe you’d like to use him instead?” Rollins lifted one eyebrow but didn’t move out of his stance.

“No, sir,” Steve said hurriedly. “I wasn’t arguing, sir, I was clarifying.”

“Yes, Steven, I want you to hit me. The gloves only. If you hit anywhere else I will punish Bucky for it, got it?”

“Of course, sir,” Steve answered. He crouched just a slight bit lower, moving his hands into a defensive posture and suddenly lashed out quick and strong, driving his right fist directly against the glove, and sending a shock through Rollins’ hand and arm, despite the padding. As quickly as he struck, Steve had his hand back up, to protect his face.

Rollins stumbled back a step, surprised by the strength of the blow; he gave Steve a wide, almost reassuring smile, “good man! Come on . . . do a few combos. Show me what you got.” The guard stepped closer.

“Gloves only, again, sir?” Steve asked, still standing defensively.

“Gloves only,” Rollins confirmed.

“Yes, sir,” Steve answered and, as quick as Rollins could follow, he hit the teacher’s gloves with a series of swift, still very hard, punches. His left was slightly weaker, but still stronger than any other sparring partner the guard had worked with. Those muscles didn’t appear to be for show. And with his accuracy and speed, his claim to have never learned to fight seemed to be an outright lie. He finally settled back into the defensive stance.

Removing the gloves, shaking out his hands, Rollins smirked at Steve, “you lied to me, Mr. Tough Guy.”

“Sir?” genuine confusion filled the blond’s voice.

“You told me you never had a fighting lesson. With blows like that there is no way you learned those on your own.” Rollins walked off the mat again and tossed the gloves into the duffel bag.

“No, sir, I haven’t,” Steve said. “I’ve been fighting other kids, bigger and older, since I was six. Until I hit my growth spurt about eleven months ago and started weight training, I was five foot four and weighed less than a hundred pounds.” The blond did not relax his stance.

“Is that why the social worker thought you were a twelve year old when she caught you and Bucky fucking?” Rollins bent down and started rummaging through the bag again.

Flushing brightly, Steve nodded. “Yes, sir,” his voice came softer. “They never believed me when I told them I was fifteen. I had turned fifteen just two months before.”

Nodding, Rollins pulled out a jumprope and motioned for Steve to step off the mat. “Huh . . . so maybe Bucky Boy ain’t as much as a freak as I thought.”

Steve obeyed the gesture and dropped his stance. He walked over to Rollins and stood patiently. Softly, he said, “I was his only boyfriend, actually. And we’d only been . . . uh . . . active since my birthday that July.” He flushed, not liking talking about his private relationship with Bucky, but worried that if he wasn’t open and honest with the guy, Bucky would be punished.

“You love him?” Rollins asked as he straightened out and walked over to stand closer to the blond.

Nodding, Steve flushed red down his neck and shoulders, too, not just his face. “Yes, sir,” he answered, figuring the guy had already figured that much out.

“Pretty face. The scars on the arm though . . . I can never look at ‘em myself,” Rollins shrugged and handed the jump rope over to Steve.

“He wasn’t scarred before he got sent away,” Steve said, frowning. The teen took the jump rope and met the man’s eyes. “And I think he’s beautiful,” a slight defiance rose in the teen’s voice.

“Nah, some client held his arm behind his back as they fucked. Guess the guy held on too tight . . . then James squirmed too much . . . shattered the bones even more. He’s lucky we’ve got Dr. Zola here.” Rollins eyed Steve, waiting for the blond’s reaction.

Blood pressure rising at that information, Steve had to fight the sudden singing in his ears, the light-headedness. He bit out, “client? This school uses the students as whores That’s . . . illegal.” He narrowed his eyes at Rollins, fists balling once more.

Rollins smirked, a predatory look in the older man’s eyes, “oh yeah . . . and your little boyfriend was real popular. Sometimes he took two clients at the same time . . Pierce had so many requests for him.”

“I thought Rumlow said Mr. Pierce hadn’t given permission for him to have two at the same time,” Steve growled, troubled.

“Two ends, Steven, do I really need to explain that to you?” Rollins smiled wider, loving the rise he was getting out of the teen. “And Bucky Boy’s got such a pretty mouth, doesn’t he?”

Fists clenched tight enough to drawn blood, eyes a fiery sapphire, Steve drew in several breaths, trying to control his blinding anger at what Bucky had gone through.

“Maybe after some more training . . . Pierce’ll allow you to participate in Bucky Boy’s lessons.”

“Students aren’t allowed to touch students,” Steve growled out, dropping his eyes and seething. He had to find a way out of this place, take Bucky, and the others, with him.

“Ah, right,” Rollins shot Steve a quick wink, “just like Kestrel never fucked your boy good and raw just earlier today.”

“No,” Steve shook his head. “He wouldn’t be allowed.” Steve didn’t like the idea of anyone touching Bucky, but Sam’s boyfriend? He couldn’t stomach that idea . . . the idea that maybe the students had found ways to sneak around with each other despite the rules . . . that Bucky would do that.

“Oh yeah, your Bucky was beggin’ Kestrel to shove it all in. The little whore couldn’t get enough . . . groveled at Mr. Pierce’s feet for more afterwards. I’m sure if you do well in your training, Steven, Mr. Pierce will let you have some fun with the bitch as a reward.”

“If he’s acting like that, it’s because this school did that to him,” Steve growled defiantly, deliberately pushing down the memories of those times Bucky had begged him for the same things: to fill Steve’s ass with his entire length and pump him full of cum.

Rollins stepped closer, chest almost flush against Steve’s, “don’t like the idea of your little bitch spreading his legs? You weren’t enough for him and he had to get more.”

Without warning, Steve grabbed Rollins and shoved him to the ground, arm across the back of the man’s neck. “Shut the fuck up!”

Arms reaching up to grab Steve, Rollins wrapped them tightly around the base of the blond’s neck. “You just earned your precious Bucky a pretty severe detention, Steven,” the guard ground out, panting slightly from the exertion of trying to get the upperhand. “Should I have Rumlow bring him up? You can watch this time?”

Steve immediately let Rollins go, but didn’t get up since his own neck was being squeezed. He panted hard, face near the guard’s ear, as he tried to calm down, angry at himself for freaking out and getting a punishment added to Bucky’s list.

Rollins let go of Steve and pushed himself to his feet, with a finger to his ear, he called out, “Rumlow . . . can you bring up James to the gym?”

“On it,” Rumlow answered immediately. With a grin, the guard strode quickly to the cells and over to number ten. “Hello, James,” he drawled with a shit eating grin.

Bucky’s eyes widened, “Mr. Pierce said I didn’t have lessons tonight!”

“Oh, this isn’t a lesson, James. You are getting a very special detention.” The man opened the door and stepped out of the way so the student could come out. “We’re going to the gym to work out.”

Bucky paled and looked at Riley with fearful eyes.

The shorter blond began to stand, pale, but Rumlow’s hand stopped him. “No, only James. Not Kestrel. Come on, get a move on. The longer you take, the harder the punishment.”

Riley sank back onto his bunk, eyes wide with sympathetic fear.

Walking out of the cell with his head hanging, Bucky stepped out in front of the guard and began to walk down the corridor. He didn’t know why he was being punished . . . was this because of what had happened with Professor Schmidt?

With a grin, Rumlow closed the cell door and followed Bucky to the gym. He opened the door, and allowed the brunet to walk in before him. “Here he is, Rollins. As requested.”

Steve lay there on the floor, face in the ground, still in the sweatpants and tank top. He looked angry and miserable.

Rollins smirked, “Oh, good,” he turned his head to look down at Steve, “You get to pick the punishment, Steven.”

“No, sir,” Steve refused, pushing to sit up on his knees. “You may pick it.” It was bad enough he’d brought this down on Bucky’s head; he certainly wouldn’t be the one who chose the abuse his friend took. “But I’d rather if you give me the punishment . . . even have him watch if you think it’s a good idea.”

Rollins nodded his head towards Rumlow who stood close behind Bucky.

Grabbing a fistful of Bucky’s hair, Rumlow forced the brunet to his knees and began to drag the teen to the center of the room. Bucky yelped and tried to loosen the painful hold, digging his heels into the ground as he attempted to pull away.

“That wasn’t our agreement, Steven,” Rollins sneered, “you pick his punishment . . . or I’ll let Rumlow pick . . . and I’ll tell you something. Rumlow is one sadistic son of a bitch.”

Lifting his face, eyes cold and dull again, Steve ground out, “Then I pick you force him to watch me take Rumlow.”

Rollins actually laughed, head tilting back as he turned to look at Rumlow, who still had a hold on Bucky’s hair, “You here that, Rumlow? Guy wants to be a hero. Be Mr. Tough Guy.”

Rumlow licked his lips. “Well, I could enjoy that. How about we make hero give it to him raw while I shove it up Hero’s ass?”

“Like that, hero? You can fuck your little bitch again?” Rollins asked, lips curled into an evil smile. 

Thinking quickly, Steve nodded. “Yes, that’s a good punishment.” He didn’t look at Bucky. He’d never been the one on top with his lover, but he knew what made Bucky hot. He figured he would be better than Rumlow.

Bucky whimpered, his ass still hurt from the morning’s lessons and Steve wasn’t exactly small . . . he was a lot bigger than Riley.

“Go on, Hero. Go claim your little whore. Should still be nice and loose for you. No fingers though. Stretching is forbidden.” 

“But he’ll tear,” Steve lifted widening eyes, horrified.

“You picked this, you could’ve just given him ten lashes but you chose this,” Rollins said, looking down at Steve with a wide smile.

Realizing the trap he’d fallen into, Steve dropped his head in shame. With all the talk of Bucky being the school sex toy, Steve hadn’t thought any other form of punishment would have been acceptable.

“Please . . . Mr. Pierce said . . . I need to be able to go to lessons tomorrow.” Bucky pleaded looking at Rollins.

Rumlow unfastened his belt. “Yeah, yeah. He keeps whining that Pierce said no private lessons tonight.”

Suddenly, Steve thought of something. Hesitantly, he said, “may I change the punishment? Please?”

“Oh yeah? What’s your new idea, Hero?” Rollins asked, looking intrigued.

“He’s . . . well, if he’s so used to this kind of thing, maybe he likes it? Maybe he doesn’t like being to one to give it? He can . . . take me raw, instead? Emotional abuse?” Steve looked at Rollins.

“Steve! No!” Bucky snapped.

Thankful for Bucky’s timely protest, Steve met Rollins’ eyes.

Looking to Rumlow with a quirked brow, Jack asked, “What do you think?”

Brock Rumlow shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. Then Pierce won’t get mad for us ripping his pet. He never said we couldn’t rip _your_ pet.”

“Alright, Hero, since you’re so anxious. Crawl over there like the little bitch you are,” Rollins ordered, licking his lips in anticipation.

Steve immediately dropped to his hands and knees, keeping his shoulders and head low like a whipped dog he’d once seen. He crawled over to Bucky and Rumlow, making little whimpering noises.

“No . . . Steve . . . please - - I . . . I can take it. Please don’t make me do this.” Bucky looked at Steve with tear washed eyes.

Glancing briefly at his boyfriend, Steve dropped his head and sat back on his heels. He pulled off his tank top, his beautiful muscles rippling as he moved. Quickly, he pushed off his sweatpants and boxers in one swift movement. Finally, he bent over again, hips in the air, head near the ground.

Bucky closed his eyes and shook his head, not caring that Rumlow still held on, “please! I - - anything . . . I’ll do anything but this.”

“You heard him, Bucky Boy. Either you take him up the ass, or he takes you while I take him.” Rumlow let Bucky go with a shove, making sure Bucky fell face first against Steve’s ass. “Either way, he gets it hard.”

Actually sobbing, something he hadn’t done since the first time he’d been forced to take Rumlow, Bucky shook his head again, “I can’t. Please, Steve . . . change the punishment. Please!”

Slowly, Steve raised up and turned his head to face Bucky. Softly, he asked, “you want me to take Mr. Rumlow instead?”

Bucky knew, even without preparing, he was better than Rumlow. He shook his head wildly, letting out another gasping sob.

“Keep your uniform on, Bucky Boy. More decadent that way. Not allowed to get blood or shit on it, either.” Rumlow ground out. “And you go on him until you cum. I wanna see your fucking jism running down those thighs!”

With shaky fingers, Bucky unfastened his belt and unzipped his trousers. He wasn’t hard, not even a little, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to get an erection, not like this.

Steve bent back over and spread his legs a bit for Bucky. He hadn’t been sexually active for a year, and those two months had always been with plenty of lube and preparation. But, he’d do this. Bucky might not like it, but in the long run, Steve hoped the brunet understood it was to protect Bucky.

“Need a shot, Bucky Boy,” Rumlow chuckled. Hey, Jackie, looks like our boy needs some blue pills. Mustn’t be turned on by a guy bigger’n him . . . to into his precious _little_ boys.”

Rollins strode over and knelt down, grabbing Bucky’s chin roughly in between his thumb and forefinger, “you listen here you little slut. If I have to give you anything to get it up, I’ll let Rumlow have a go at Steven after you’re done.”

“I could go at the same time,” Rumlow offered on a low chuckle. “He looks like he could take it better than Kestrel does.”

Bucky looked at Rollins, tears streaming down his pale cheeks.

Steve sat back up and frowned softly. Finally, he moved so that he was kneeling in front of Bucky, so close his body heat merged with the other teen’s, but not touching, a whisper away. Softly, he said, “heya, Buck . . . you wanna be inside me?” It was the same sexy drawl he’d used the last time they had been in bed together.

Gasping softly, Bucky’s member began to fill at that tone, but the brunet’s tears only increased.

Giving Bucky his sexy fallen angel smile, Steve turned around and exposed his ass. “Come on . . . I’m getting cold,” Steve glanced over his shoulder, pretending their cruel guards weren’t even there.

Rollins released Bucky’s chin and moved to stand next to Rumlow.

The brunet teen hung his head and wrapped his fingers around his filling erection, trying to keep from losing it.

“Buck,” Steve let his voice fall into his needy baritone whine, the one that had always drawn a groan of need from his lover. “I need you . . .”

Bucky closed his eyes and moved so that his tip was positioned against Steve’s entrance. The flesh was warm and felt so familiar.

“Yes,” Steve let out a long, low moan, as if he’d been aching for this precise set up forever.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Bucky whimpered and slowly began to push inside, gritting his teeth against the over-tight sensation.

“Please, in me . . .” Steve jerked his hips slightly back against Bucky’s erection, rubbing. “Please . . .” he figured this would hurt as bad as being beaten to a pulp, but he was determined to take this instead of letting Bucky endure it. The initial burning stretch hurt like the very first time, when they hadn’t known to loosen him or use more than a handful of spit.

“Deep breaths,” Bucky cooed, sniffling slightly, “I’m so sorry . . . I’m so sorry.”

Letting himself go back to that first time, on his fifteenth birthday, Steve drew several deep breaths, bearing down slightly to loosen his muscle and his entire passage. “I can take it, Buck. I want it,” he whimpered, much as he had that day when he’d been determined to bear the pain so he and Bucky could be real lovers.

Only about an inch in, Bucky stopped, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t rape Steve. He could try to imagine the many times he and Steve had slept together . . . but nothing worked . . . he couldn’t do this. “I’m sorry,” the brunet moved to pull out, shaking his head frantically.

Steve reached back and grabbed Bucky’s hip with one hand and his member with the other. He pulled Bucky tight to him, guiding his shaft, pulling him brutally in further. Steve bit his lip to hide the scream of raw pain, but the sudden rush of blood did help. His ass felt full, even though Bucky was only a couple inches in . . . enough that if the brunet would just angle his damn hips a bit, he’d hit Steve’s sensitive prostate. Steve really needed that stimulation to held drown this searing pain.

Whimpering at the sight of blood, Bucky’s fingers began to rub soothing circles on Steve’s hips. Angling his hips, the brunet pushed forward slightly, knowing he was near his old boyfriend’s prostate. “Breathe, Stevie . . . deep breaths.”

As that thick member rubbed over his bundle of nerves, Steve keened in need and pleasure. “Yeah, like that, Buck.” He let go the other teen’s member and hip so Bucky could continue to fuck him.

A new wave of tears ran down Bucky’s cheeks as he pushed forward again, trying desperately to hit Steve’s prostate.

“Yes,” Steve bucked slightly backwards, embedding his lover deeper. “Been too long, Buck,” he murmured, thankful his own blood eased the way so the brunet’s manhood felt like it belonged rather than intruded. He had always been addicted to Bucky’s shaft, ever since that first frantic, confused fuck.

“I - - I’m sorry, Stevie,” Bucky whimpered and pushed in further, almost all the way, “I’m sorry.”

Steve pushed backwards to finish the maneuver, feeling as Bucky suddenly became flush with his ass. “God, finally,” he moaned, trying his best to ignore Bucky’s apologies drawing him out of the fantasy. Steve continued trying to hold onto the illusion that they were back in Bucky’s room, on July fourth, trying something new and forbidden and ultimately satisfying, despite the initial pain. He willed Bucky silently to go along with this, just long enough that he could cum and finish this horrible punishment.

At being fully in Steve, Bucky pulled back and then pushed back in, aiming for Steve’s sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Fuck me, Bucky, please. Fuck me,” Steve moaned, hips stuttering every time Bucky managed to caress his prostate, sending a delicious jolt of fire through Steve’s own manhood, which was filling on its own.

“I got you, baby . . . I got you,” Bucky leaned over to whisper in Steve’s ear, kissing the shoulder like he would’ve done back in their bedroom. The brunet quickly found a smooth rhythm, making sure to hit the prostate with each stroke.

Without thinking, letting himself fall fully into the fantasy he’d built, Steve turned his head to steal a kiss from his boyfriend. “Right there, Buck, yeah,” he groaned and matched his boyfriend’s rhythm.

Whimpering into the kiss, Bucky’s hips lost their pace and he shoved himself fully into Steve. “Stevie . . . Stevie . . .” the brunet moaned, eyes closed as he willed this all to be a horrible nightmare. That he’d wake up in their bed at any moment, Steve wrapped around his body as he slept, the sunlight from the window making the blond head of hair nearly shimmer.

“More, Buck, more. Need more,” Steve whimpered, his passage sore but now well lubricated with blood and Bucky’s precum. “God, need to feel you fill me up, Buck!”

Groaning softly, Bucky’s pulled back only to snap back in. After a few more thrusts, the brunet gripped Steve’s hips and pushed in one last time. “Steve!” Bucky cried as he shot thick streams of cum inside his old boyfriend.

Feeling his ass being painted with hot cum, Steve cried out and shot his own load. He’d always been able to cum for Bucky, without even needing a reach around. Just the feeling of his lover deep inside, his seed filling him and leaking out, had always brought Steve over the edge. Thick jets covered the mat below him and Steve sobbed in relief. “God, Buck, yes . . .” he moaned. “Finally . . .”

Sobbing in horror of what he’d just done, Bucky pulled out and fell back, ignoring the guards. “I’m so sorry! I’m sorry . . . please - - I - - I didn’t . . .”

Steve let his forehead drop to the mat, ignoring the cooling sticky mess below him. “So good,” he breathed softly. “Love you, Buck,” he whispered.

Rumlow tilted an eyebrow and glanced at his partner.

“I told you . . . they used to fuck in high school,” Rollins offered with a shrug and looked down at the two boys, “Oh no, would you look at that? Bucky Boy got his uniform all dirty.”

Rumlow laughed. “Yeah, blood and cum . . . how naughty, _James_ ,” he emphasised.

Looking down at his own lap, Bucky let out another sob as he saw the smears of bright red blood covering his crotch. He quickly tucked himself back into his equally stained boxers and zipped up his pants.

Steve tried to catch his breath, his blood and cum smeared ass and thighs still exposed wantonly. Cum drizzled out of his ass in thick rivulets. Steve had never looked so ravished and so decadently punished . . . and so desireable. He breathed deeply, his entire body trembling.

Rollins walked over to Steve and ran a finger up the teen’s spine, “ya got your wish, Hero. Got fucked by your bitch again.”

The touch drew a delicious answering shudder from the overstimulated boy. He whimpered as his eyes opened, all illusion shattered by the guard’s sneering voice.

“And he got so _messy_ , too,” Rollins knelt down to whisper in Steve’s ear, “Pierce will want him punished for that. Maybe he’ll let Rumlow and I finally double team the little whore.”

“No,” the cry of anguish ripped from Steve and he lifted his head, his blue eyes blown so wide the irises were almost unidentifiable.

“Look at the mess you made on him, Steven. Go on look.” Rollins leered.

“I’ll clean it up,” Steve rushed to say. “Let me clean him up.” His eyes roamed over to his lover and Steve looked miserable.

Bucky hugged his legs to his chest and sobbed openly; he’d never been forced to rape anyone. His heart ached with the guilt and shame he felt.

“How you gonna clean all that blood and cum off his pants, Steven?” Rollins asked.

“I can wash his uniform?” Steve asked, his shattered voice hopeful.

Rollins looked up at Rumlow, “what do you wanna do, Brock? We can send the little whore to Pierce or let Hero here try to clean up his mess?”

“I wanna fuck Hero,” Rumlow said, adjusting his large bulge.

Chuckling, Rollins shook his head, “hear that Hero?”

Steve looked at him. “If I agree, does that mean you let him go without further punishment?”

“Steve!” Bucky cried out again, “no! You fucking punk! Stop doing this!”

“Shut up, you fucking jerk! It’s _my_ body.” Steve turned a glare on Bucky. Couldn’t he understand that Steve was trying to spare him further punishments? “Just go back to your cell!”

“Trouble in paradise, huh, boys?” Rollins looked amused as he eyed the two teens.

“He liked being fucked,” Rumlow chuckled. “You know at first I thought he was faking it, Jackie, but I think he really enjoyed having Bucky Boy fuck him so hard.”

“Please . . . take me to Pierce - - I deserve it after getting my uniform dirty . . .” Bucky started, eyes wide and pleading.

“Lick it up,” Rumlow pointed to the cum all over the mat, dried and crusty and cold. “Lick that up, James, and we’ll call it even.”

“No,” Steve groaned, flushing. “It’s my mess, I can clean it up.”

But Bucky had already crawled over to the mat and leaned down, eyes clamped shut and cheeks flamed in embarrassment. Slowly, he ran his tongue over the mat and nearly gagged at the texture alone.

“See, Steven? The little bitch can’t get enough of it.” Rollins sneered.

Steve, without warning, dropped down and began helping Bucky clean the mat, not showing his own opinion of cleaning his dried spunk from the dirty surface, still bare assed naked and covered in blood and cum down his ass and thighs.

Rumlow chuckled.

After the mess had been cleaned, Bucky straighten and looked at the guards, “can we be excused now, sirs?” His tone was cold, detached.

Steve knelt close to Bucky, straightening up as well.

Shrugging, Rumlow said, “not my pet. I don’t have one. But, I think James can go now, huh?”

“Yeah, James . . . you’re done, go back to your cell.” Rollins answered with a nod.

Without looking at Steve, Bucky stood up and walked towards the door.

“Want me to walk him or stay here with you and your boy,” Rumlow offered almost breathlessly.

Rollins carded his fingers through Steve’s hair, “what do you want, Steven? Wanna let Rumlow fuck you like a real man? Maybe you can take both of us?”

Bucky froze and turned to look back at where Steve still knelt; sure he was furious at the blond for always sacrificing himself, but he didn’t want Steve to get hurt.

“And you let Bucky go without telling Mr. Pierce about the uniform, right?” Steve asked softly.

“Sure thing, kid,” Rollins offered with a smirk.

“They’re lying, Steve!” Bucky shouted, “they’ll still tell Pierce about the uniform! Don’t listen to it!”

Steve met his eyes, frowning fiercely. “But . . .”

Rumlow broke into raspy laughter. “Wait? This kid has really been playing the hero and taking all this to _protect_ James? My god, what an idiot! He deserves to be fucked!”

Walking over, Bucky knelt down next to Steve, throwing the blond a glare, “whatever punishment you are giving him you have to give me, too. We’re a family, right?”

“No, Buck . . .” Steve whimpered, unable to draw his eyes away.

“Shut the fuck up, Steve!” Bucky snapped, cold and harsh.

And surprisingly, the large, muscular blond fell silent, obeying Bucky as inevitably as he’d always eventually done.

Looking impressed and thoughtful, Rumlow glanced over at his partner.

“Well . . . we can’t fuck James. Pierce’ll be mad.” Rollins looked at the pair of teens and then back at Rumlow.

“What say we let them have a shower and go back to their room, then go see if Pierce wants to watch the gym video?” Rumlow grinned, “it might be the first time he sees James take someone else up the ass. Who knew he was that gifted.” The guard gestured to the licked clean mat.

Rollins grinned, “yeah . . . boys go get cleaned up. You’re done for right now. Go straight to the showers and then to your cells. If you deviate . . . we will know and you will be punished.”

Steve nodded and stood up, gathering up his uniform and then the sweatpants and tank top. He walked stiffly from the room, buck naked and still dirty.

Without waiting for the guards to change their minds, Bucky stood and hurried after Steve.

Rumlow laughed. “Man I am so hard, Jackie!” he grumbled, but didn’t go back after the students.

“Well,” Jack chuckled low, “lucky for us, we have another pair on schedule for punishment.”

Rumlow grinned slowly, wickedly. “Yeah. And Tommy Boy’s always a treat.”

“Let’s go get ‘em,” Jack grinned, looking just as excited as Rumlow did at the prospect of _punishing_ TJ.

Nodding, Rumlow adjusted himself in his trousers then grinned, “think Storm’s as clever as his cousin?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jack laughed and headed out of the room, towards the initiation cells.

Rumlow followed his partner down the steps to the cells, as eager to break in the other pretty blond as he was to once more take the pleasure of the middle Barnes siblings’ body. He slammed his hand on the bars of the first cell, startling Sharon into a squeak. As he walked, Rumlow hit each successive set of bars with a loud, jarring clang, eyeing the startled, wary students with a frown. He stopped in front of TJ and Johnny’s cell. “Punishment for attacking a teacher, boys.”

“Aw, miss me already, _Brock_ ,” TJ purred low as he stood up, walking over to the cell bars.

“Not so much, Barnes. But I _am_ interested in testing Storm’s limits.” He leered at the tall blond, who glared back in defiance and stepped right up beside TJ.

“Shucks, you’re breaking my little heart,” TJ said low, with just a small hint of sarcasm, though his pale eyes flashed with worry before settling back to their seductive spark. It was incredible how fast TJ changed demeanors; just moments before he’d been talking normally with Johnny and within seconds the relaxed teen had switched into a seductive minx.

Staying quiet, Johnny watched the byplay between his roommate and the teachers, knowing he could do nothing to prevent what was to come. His attack on Zola had brought this around, but it couldn’t be as bad as what that sadistic doctor had been planning, could it? He stayed right by TJ but was careful not to touch the other boy, knowing it would just add to the offenses the teachers would punish.

With a sudden grin, Brock looked over TJ then Johnny. “Yeah, this might be interesting.” He turned to Jack and said, “open the cell, Jack.”

Snickering, Jack opened the cell door and grabbed TJ by the arm, dragging the still slightly clumsy boy from the cell. The lean brunet didn’t fight being manhandled down the long corridor, knowing that all the other students were now watching with rapt attention.

Johnny followed silently, as if not needing to be guided. Rumlow looked amused and followed the small group. They headed up from the cells in the basement. At the first floor, Rumlow called out, “which room, Jackie?”

Leering, Rollins gripped TJ’s arm tighter, drawing a small wince from the lean brunet; the guard said, “I’m thinkin’ the dungeon might be a good place.”

Smile turning into a full blown leer, Rumlow nodded. “Yeah, that’s a great punishment place for this little whore.” He toed the back of TJ’s knee, deliberately tripping him up.

TJ had to hold back the whimper of fear from hearing that they were heading towards the dungeon. The lean brunet collapsed from being tripped, Rollins still holding his arm so the limb was wrenched up and back painfully. Rollins didn’t even stop walking, forcing TJ to either stumble forward and stagger back to his feet or risk dislocating his shoulder. Stumbling forward, TJ managed to get back to his feet after only a few steps and drawled, though his voice quivered ever so slightly, “aw, boys, we don’t gotta scare the newbie. It’s only the first day.”

“Best to learn right off. Break him in real good so he knows his place. Already broke his pansy cousin. Big guy, little kitten in our hands, purring for more,” Rumlow laughed.

Johnny stiffened but stayed quiet, narrowing his sapphire eyes.

Rollins continued to lead the group, dragging TJ with him until they reached a closed door. Opening the door, Rollins shoved TJ inside, making the teen fall to his knees once more.

Eyes widening, Johnny stopped, causing Rumlow to ram right into him, but the teacher had to forcefully push the student into the punishment room: a cement room with old, worn wooden and metal structures unidentifiable for many people. Chains and thick metal collars and bands were attached to the wall, dangled from the ceiling, or ominously had been screwed into position on the various structures. A variety of devices ranged over one wall, varying from more recognizable whips and canes to some which were so bizarre, no uninformed teen could fathom what they were. No cushions, clothes, or even an old mattress were in sight; Rumlow kept nothing soft and yielding in _his_ punishment room. The _dungeon_ truly was.


	7. The Dungeon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Bondage, Forced Sexual Activity, Drug Use, Violence**

Looking around, Rollins chuckled low, “man, you’ve got some new toys to play with, Rumlow . . . haven’t been in here in awhile.”

TJ didn’t move from his position on the floor; he’d been in this room far more than any of the other students, including Riley. He wasn’t Rumlow’s _pet_ , but the sadistic man seemed to favor abusing the lean brunet. He just wished Johnny didn’t have to be in here as well.

Rumlow gave Johnny one hard push, sending the blond sprawling onto the hard cement floor. The teacher turned and shut the door, locking it. He put the key, on it’s chain, around his own neck. “You know the rules, Tommy. Whoever can get my key, gets to leave the playground. Make me happy enough to give ‘em to ya.”

Looking up at Rumlow, TJ’s lips twitched into a seductive smirk, though his pale eyes were clouded with fear. Humming, TJ drawled as he begun to unbutton his dress shirt, “I _always_ make you happy, Brock.”

“Yeah, but Jackie’s here, too,” Rumlow purred out, licking his lips as he watched the seventeen year old stripping down. Brock reached down and adjusted his bulge again.

“Oh?” TJ slipped out of his shirt, revealing his bruised flesh to the older man, “I bet I can make you _both_ very happy.”

“And you think Johnny Boy can make us _happy_ , too, Tommy? ‘Cause I’m in the mood for a blond.” Rumlow leered at Johnny, who hadn’t gotten off the floor yet.

“He can watch this time,” TJ purred, shifting so he could remove his trousers, “he don’t know what to do, yet. I know exactly what you boys like.”

“Whatcha think, Jackie? Let Storm watch or make him take me?” Rumlow fondled himself through his own uniform pants.

“Make ‘im watch,” Jack growled, walking over to the blond boy.

“String him up and hit him every time he closes his eyes longer than a blink,” Rumlow ordered.

“You got it,” Rollins laughed and hauled the blond boy up from the floor.

Johnny’s face was covered in blood and his eyes were closed, he was limp and heavy. Apparently, Rumlow had knocked him unconscious when he’d pushed him to the floor; blood streamed generously from a cut over his right eye.

“You knocked ‘im out,” Rollins huffed at his partner, though that didn’t stop him from dragging the limp boy towards the closest restraints on a wall. Propping the unconscious blond up against the wall, Rollins bent down to secure a collar and wrist restraints on Johnny, who’s eyes fluttered open then widened in shock.

“Keep your eyes open, Storm,” Jack growled low, “watch how a good whore acts.”

Rumlow grinned. “Wanna tell him the rules, Tommy? I think he slept through the first telling.”

TJ turned his head to look at the restrained teen, who’s right side of his face was covered in blood; the brunet’s eyes were fearful but his voice still held that low, seductive purr, “if you make Rumlow happy, you get the key to leave. You hafta keep your eyes open Johnny, if you close them for longer than a blink, you’re gonna get hit. You need to learn how to make them happy.”

Johnny rasped out, “okay.” He sounded and acted a lot more obedient than many kids brought into the room for the first time. It could have been that he’d already seen what Zola did and felt sex with these men couldn’t be that bad, or it could be the head injury made him sick and docile.

TJ nodded and turned his attention back to Rumlow.

“Tommy, you stopped undressing. What? Not interested any more?” Rumlow took a step towards Jonny. “I can just work with this guy instead . . .”

“I am _very_ interested,” TJ mewled, a needy noise breaking past his lips as he slid his boxers down his long legs. “It’s been a while, Brock . . . you know how much I need you.”

“Not sure I believe ya, Tommy,” Brock growled low, hefting his own crotch through his trousers. “I’m beginning to hurt here, and you don’t give a shit, do you? Wanna take a beautiful kid like your sicko brother? Would ya believe I saw him force himself on that huge ass Rogers? Bled him good!”

Swallowing down the urge to snap at the staff member, TJ, now completely nude, purred, “you must be achin’ bad, baby, I can help with that. You know I can,” TJ knew better than to approach the guard without the order to do so.

“I don’t know. Jackie, whatcha think? He really wanna do me, or he thinking more about doing his little brother or some other _sick_ fantasy?” Brock sounded obscenely reasonable, as if _this_ wasn’t one of those sick fantasies he accused TJ of.

“I don’t know, he looks _pretty_ needy,” Jack rumbled; he ran his fingers through Johnny’s hair, “what do you say, Storm? Doesn’t Tommy look needy?”

Sluggishly weighing the options in his mind, eyes locked on his roommate, Johnny slurred, “sure looks like he really wants Mr. Rumlow to me, sir.” He hoped, in his pain fogged brain, that the answer had been the one TJ had wanted, the one that would make the least trouble.

“See, baby?” TJ called out, “I want you, everyone can see that.”

“Well, okay, fine,” Rumlow nodded and let go himself. “Show me how much you want me. Prove it to me.”

Swallowing, TJ crawled over to Rumlow, his every move calculated, he knew exactly how Rumlow liked him to act and look.

“I wanna see you drag yourself on the floor . . . I wanna see how hung you are for me,” Rumlow instructed.

“Of course, baby, anything you want,” TJ purred in reply, lowering himself so that his cockhead dragged against the unforgiving cement floor. The friction made the brunet’s member twitch and begin to fill, which TJ was actually thankful for, he needed to look desperate for the sadistic guard.

Rumlow licked his lips as he watched the teenager’s erection filling. “Yeah, you _are_ a whore, Tommy. I knew you were the moment you walked in the door last year. I want you to strip me down and show me what a whore you are.”

Not moving his eyes from Rumlow, TJ needed to pretend that Johnny wasn’t watching this entire exchange. The lean brunet finished dragging himself until he made it to Rumlow’s feet, where he stood up, a few inches shorter than the bulky guard. Licking his lips, as if barely able to contain his excitement at the prospect of taking Rumlow, TJ carefully began removing the burly brunet’s clothes.

“Don’t you try to get me off before I tell you, so watch those tricky hands, slut,” Rumlow growled, wrapping one hand in TJ’s curls and pulling back harshly.

Gasping, TJ’s eyes flickered in pain but he kept his smirk, “oh, we wouldn’t want that, baby, I’ll make sure to be _real_ careful.” The hand in his hair, wrenching his head back, made it more difficult to finish unbuttoning Rumlow’s shirt, but the lean brunet managed.

Rumlow let go of TJ’s hair and ordered, “don’t you touch my cock yet, whore. I know you got a thing for being covered, but I ain’t ready by a long shot!” He pushed TJ to the floor with a growl, but didn’t stop him from crawling back and beginning to undress him again.

TJ began to work on Rumlow’s trousers, expertly flicking open the belt and unbuttoning the dress pants. Before sliding down the pants, TJ started to unlace Rumlow’s shoes.

“That’s right . . .” Rumlow grinned. “You gonna make sure my shoes are all shining, right, slut? Make sure my uniform is perfect.” He once more reached down for TJ’s curls, but this time he caressed gently, sensuously. It was never certain with Rumlow which reaction he’d give from moment to moment: angry and hurtful or sweet and loving.

“Of course, baby, you gotta look perfect,” TJ replied, reaching down to ease the older man’s shoe off.

Rumlow lifted his foot, making it easier. He also aided in TJ taking off his other shoe. One thing could be said for Rumlow: he took care of his body, including keeping himself very clean between punishments. He might put himself away dirty after one student, but he always made sure to clean up privately before moving on to another. If it had been any other situation, he might almost be a desireable lover . . . if it wasn’t for the sadistic streak and obsession with blood.

Once TJ completely stripped Rumlow of his clothing, the lean brunet waited for his next set of orders, looking up at the older man from under his eyelashes.

Rumlow bobbed heavy and full, not the largest cock, but a hefty size. He reached down to run a single finger over TJ’s cheek then lips. “You want this, don’t ya, whore? You wanna be my bitch and take this hard.”

“Oh, yes, please,” TJ moaned, shifting his hips as if the idea of taking it hard from Rumlow was almost too much, “you know how I like it, baby.”

“Hey, Jackie? Got the oil?” Rumlow growled in delight. He watched TJ squirming on the floor and it seemed to excite him all the more.

“Yup,” Jack called back, digging into his pocket and tossing over what Rumlow had asked for.

Rumlow let the tube clatter to the floor. His eyes flicked to follow it skittering to stop at Johnny’s feet where he leaned on the wall in his bindings. “Uh oh. Looks like I can’t reach. Can’t use it if I ain’t got it. You want that, Tommy boy?”

“However you wanna give it to me, baby,” TJ purred, though his jaw ticked just slightly.

“Well, why don’t you go get it, slut? You crawl over there and get that oil. Show your roommate what a good slut looks like. Give him the full show,” Rumlow’s member jerked as he spoke, obviously excited by the idea of TJ displaying himself to Johnny.

“Of course, baby,” TJ mewled and lowered himself to all fours, crawling sensuously over to where Johnny was restrained. TJ’s eyes met with his roommate’s as he grabbed the tube.

Looking down at TJ, dazed and in pain, Johnny slowly winked, as if he was in on some sort of plan or joke or something. He didn’t check out his roommate in a lewd way, but he let his eyes run over the other teen enough to satisfy those watching them.

Grinning slowly, TJ turned back and made his way back to Rumlow. Once kneeling back by the man’s feet, TJ held up the tube, “here ya go, baby.”

Rumlow looked down and grinned wide. “You want it? You apply it.” He stood, hands relaxed at his sides, eyes taking in the sight of TJ with dirty knees, perched at his feet for anything.

TJ popped open the tube and squeezed a generous amount on his hands, rubbing it in between his palms to warm it up, the teen wrapped his hands around Rumlow’s cock to begin applying the slippery substance.

Growling low in pleasure, Rumlow let TJ use his clever hands to caress and work the oil over him. He ground out, “you get everything good, whore. Don’t forget my balls, too. Someday I’m gonna shove it _all_ in ya.”

“Can’t wait, baby, you know how I like being _so full_ ,” TJ purred as he slipped one hand in between Rumlow’s legs to coat the man’s balls with the lube and caress his nimble fingers over the guard’s sensitive taint as well. With a seductive grin, TJ moved back even more, rubbing his slick fingers over Rumlow’s pursed opening.

As if he forgot there were two other people in the room, Rumlow’s head fell back and he groaned low and long. “God . . .”

“You like that, baby?” TJ cooed, dipping the tip of his finger past that tight ring of muscle.

Rumlow let out a low keen, his ass clenching at the digit before he seemed to come back to himself and pushed TJ to the floor, eyes snapping. “Fucking whore! I don’t get fucked, _you_ get fucked!” Anger laced his tones and he trembled as if from the same strong emotion, though TJ knew from very private one on one sessions that Brock loved taking it up the ass.

“Oh, c’mon, baby,” TJ purred, propping himself up on his elbows, “I know whatcha like, you know I do.”

“Jackie, he’s trying to get to me!” Rumlow growled, voice shaking. “Make him shut up before he gives the new kid bad ideas.”

Stepping over, Rollins backhanded TJ harshly, making the teen yelp. The other guard didn’t waste any time as he grabbed a handful of TJ’s hair and tugged painfully, forcing the boy to flip over. “You know the fucking rules, whore, staff doesn’t take it up the ass. We leave that up to the sluts like you.”

TJ spat out a mouthful of blood from where Rollins had managed to split his lip. “Yes, baby, how _forgetful_ of me. What teachers do in private should stay private.”

“You accusing me of being a slut?” Rumlow growled. He stormed over and reached for TJ’s throat.

Johnny let out a cough, drawing the attention. He said, “TJ can take it up the ass? I’d like to see how to do that. Ain’t never done _that_.”

Rollins let go of TJ’s hair with a rough shove, smacking his head against the concrete flooring, “c’mon, Brock, make the whore forget his own name.”

“Nah, I want the virgin. The slut pissed me off,” Rumlow grumped, stepping closer to Johnny and licking his lips.

“Aw, come on, baby,” TJ called out, trying to fight his own dizziness from the two harsh hits, “the virgin won’t know how to make you happy. It was a mistake, baby, it won’t happen again.”

Rumlow slowly turned his attention to TJ and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah? Prove it. Make me happy.”

“Whatcha want me to do, baby, I’ll do anything,” TJ slowly pushed back up to his knees, ignoring the dull ache from putting all his weight on them for this long.

“I wanna fuck your throat so deep you choke,” Rumlow growled. “Don’t want your fucking used ass. You probably give it to the other kids when I ain’t looking. Glad I never picked you up as a pet, you dirty slut.”

“Well, come over and fuck my throat, then, baby,” TJ mewled.

“Did you just fucking tell me to walk over to you?” Rumlow reached for a thin, hard cane from the wall, the closest implement he could reach.

TJ’s eyes flickered to the cane and then back to Rumlow, “sorry, baby,” he murmured, crawling over to the guard.

The dungeon door unlocked and opened, revealing Pierce standing in his school clothing, frowning. “It is after bedtime, gentlemen. This punishment, if it is not over, will have to resume tomorrow. The boys will need their rest for their _lessons_.”

Rumlow swore low and bitter, his hard aching cock purpling from neglect. He turned and whipped the key from his neck to unlocked Johnny, who slid down the wall. “Get the fuck outta my room, whores!” he barked.

Scampering up from the floor, TJ haphazardly pulled his clothes on and then helped Johnny to his feet.

Pierce called out, “you may report back to Dr. Zola, if the bleeding hasn’t stopped by the time you reach your room.”

Johnny rolled his eyes in fuzzy fear.

“He’ll be okay,” TJ reported.

“If the bleeding hasn’t stopped, Thomas,” Pierce reiterated sternly.

“Fine,” TJ grumbled, hoisting Johnny against him and guiding him from the room.

Johnny let TJ help him from the dungeon and down the hall towards the cells in the basement. He waited until they were out of sight and earshot of the three teachers before turning and pushing TJ into the nearest staff bathroom. Johnny hurried to the sink, looking perfectly clear headed, and began washing off the blood with cold water to help it to clot.

“We’re fucked,” TJ murmured, washing away his own blood from his split lip; luckily Rollins hadn’t gashed him open when he slammed his head on the floor.

“You probably are gonna hate me, but I’m not a virgin,” Johnny said quietly. He looked over.

Snorting softly, TJ grabbed a few towels and dabbed them against his cut, “yeah, figured that out. No offense, but you don’t really act like a virgin.”

Grinning, Johnny shrugged. “Haven’t been for five years. I was a naughty kid at twelve.” The blond turned to the brunet.

“Jesus,” TJ laughed softly, pale eyes sparked with amusement, “just be prepared. Rumlow ain’t gonna let us getting out of there early go.”

“Yeah, I figure we’ll get beaten and fucked now. But, is it better or worse than that asshhat doctor?” Johnny tilted his head.

“Eh,” TJ shrugged and threw away the paper towels in the trashcan, “I think it’s better than Zola. Zola just likes to torture, at least with Brock or Jack, they _sometimes_ try to make it good for you, too.”

“Like letting you oil him up?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah,” TJ nodded, “and let me tell you,” the teen lowered his voice to a low whisper, “Brock _loves_ to take it up the ass. Moans like a bitch in heat.”

“But he doesn’t want that getting around, I suppose,” Johnny grinned. He put his hands on TJ’s shoulders like he had earlier in their cell, and pushed the other teen into a toilet stall, making TJ sink onto the toilet. Johnny sank to his knees and smoothly pulled TJ’s semi-erection from his trousers. “They left you needy, babe,” he breathed before leaning over and taking TJ into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” TJ breathed, head falling back. He actually had been a virgin before he was forced to attend the academy, and this was the first time anyone had done anything _for_ him. “God . . . Johnny . . .” the lean brunet fought the urge to buck his hips into that warm mouth.

“You deserve some attention without the horror, babe,” Johnny breathed as he pulled back off TJ’s cock. Grinning, he lowered his mouth again and licked at the slit, the head, curling around the glans and pulling TJ’s cockhead back into his hot mouth.

Mewling, an honest needy noise, TJ tried to find something to grip onto, not wanting to hurt his roommate, “fuck . . . definitely _not_ a virgin.”

Humming around TJ’s cock, Johnny began to take more and more of his roommate down his throat, eyes flickering up to look at TJ through long dark lashes.

Unable to hold back any longer, TJ thrust slightly into that throat, whimpering as his eyes closed and mouth dropped open slightly.

Apparently. Johnny was _very_ good at giving head. He seemed only to need to breath every once in awhile, pulling off enough to get some air then plunging back down, letting TJ fuck his throat without complaint. He eased his hands around TJ’s hips, still kneeling, bending his head over the seated teen’s lap, and increased his pace, matching and driving TJ’s thrusts further, harder, faster.

“Oh,” TJ breathed, cheeks flushed and fingers finally reaching down to entangle in Johnny’s short hair. His hips lifted to fuck himself into the blond’s open throat, matching Johnny’s set pace. “Fuck . . . gettin’ close already . . .”

Johnny stroked his fingers lightly over TJ’s hips and continued to swallow and hum for his new lover.

It only took a few more moments before TJ came with a soft cry, spilling his seed down Johnny’s awaiting throat.

Pulling back enough to be able to swallow and even breathe a bit, Johnny took the entire load. He then began meticulously cleaning TJ’s shaft and balls, making sure nothing was left behind. Finally, giving one last kiss to TJ’s cockhead, Johnny tucked him back into his clothing and carefully zipped the trousers shut. He smiled up at TJ. “So, you gonna be my boyfriend or just friends with benefits, babe?”

Breathing harshly, TJ looked down at the blond with a small smile, “you . . . you want . . .” the lean brunet had never been _wanted_ by anyone. Even his own siblings seemed to have written him off as a lost cause.

“Well, if you’d rather not, I can see it. You’ve gotta be the prettiest guy here, even prettier than your little brother who looks almost like a girl. I can see you’d have a ton of guys lined up. Kestrel, maybe?” Johnny sighed and began easing onto his heels then to his feet. He offered TJ a hand.

“N - - no . . . no one . . .” TJ stammered, eyes wide with genuine shock, “you . . . you think I’m pretty? You . . . want me?”

Johnny eased TJ to his feet and lifted his chin to place a kiss on his lips. “Yeah, I do, babe. I,” he kissed, “want, “ kissed again, “ _you_.” Johnny kissed TJ once more.

Breaking into a wide grin, pale eyes lighting with a joyous spark that they hadn’t had in over a year, TJ asked “you want me.”

“Yeah,” Johnny grinned back, eyes dancing and happy. “I really want you, TJ. I know we’re in a hell of a place and we’re forced to be victims and sex slaves and stuff, and once we get outta here, you’ll have the entire world to choose from, but . . . I really like you. You’re a smart guy with a nice guy streak that I like. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re the sexiest guy I ever met, _even_ when you’re pretending to be a fifties vamp.”

TJ grabbed Johnny’s hand, grinning wide, “come with me,” he tugged the blond out of the stall and he peaked his head out of the bathroom. “Be quiet,” he whispered and then tugged again, leading Johnny out, in the opposite direction of the cells.

Johnny never said a word, letting TJ guide him wherever the other teen wanted, trusting the boy he knew less than sixteen hours. A small smile graced Johnny’s pretty face and a darkening five o’clock shadow traced his cheeks.

The lean brunet pulled Johnny through the maze like corridors, down another set of stairs and into what looked like a series of underground tunnels. “Not scared of the dark are ya, Storm?”

Shaking his head, Johnny gave TJ a wider smile and mouthed, _‘no.’_

“Good,” TJ whispered and pulled the other teen deeper, the stone tunnels lit only by a few dim lights, “there are no cameras down here, guess they couldn’t install them,” the brunet shrugged as he continued through, expertly weaving through the multiple corridors. TJ kept going for several minutes until they reached the end and the outside world, beyond the fence that encircled the large property they were trapped in.

Jaw dropping, Johnny continued to hold TJ’s hand, looking around in shock. “Are we?” he whispered.

“Yup, outside,” TJ grinned, the large moon casting a bluish glow over everything, he pointed towards the road, “you can go down that road for a few miles and you’ll hit a gas station.” The brunet didn’t let go of his new boyfriend’s hand.

“Damn! We can get everyone out of here if we can assure some time to get away before being followed,” Johnny grinned widely.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out for over six months,” TJ explained, “none of the teachers take me seriously, think I’m just some drugged out slut, so they let me roam around after I get the key from Rumlow.”

“So, what we gotta do is tolerate their next punishment without throwing them off, so they continue to let you prowl.” Johnny grinned at TJ, willing, apparently, to throw himself into the plot even if it required taking a beating and a possible forced sexual encounter with the guards.

“Johnny,” TJ said softly, “you can get outta here, right now,” the brunet’s voice dropped to a serious tone, “you’re the first person I’ve been able to get out.”

“And they’ll know it was you, TJ, that you found a way to escape and helped me do it.” Johnny lifted their entwined fingers and kissed TJ’s hand. “What kind of punishment . . .”

TJ shrugged, “they wouldn’t kill me. I know they use me to control Bucky, they wouldn’t be able to get the way I found outta me. You can get outta here, Johnny.”

“And leave _you_? And all the others? No, TJ, all of nothing.” Johnny kissed again. “I’m not one of those asshole selfish staff jerks here, babe. I’m liking the fantasy that I’ll be a cop someday, or an extreme sports participant, maybe both. And heroes don’t leave anyone behind.” After a pause, Johnny added, “of course, being a car thief and part of a chop shop, I think cop’s outta the question. Maybe an astronaut. They still let ya in NASA if you repent, right?”

“Couldn’t you do something that lets you stay on this _planet_?” TJ laughed softly, looking around once more, “you sure, Johnny? I’d come find you after I managed to get everyone out.”

“And if one got out, security would tighten faster than a virgin’s asshole, TJ. Not gonna be possible. I’ll stick it out and help you. Two heads and all, right?” Johnny grinned. “And . . . once we’re out, if you stick with me, I can find a very good reason to stay outta the stars.”

Smiling, TJ nodded, “c’mon we gotta get back.” He tugged Johnny by the hand again and led the blond back into their personal hell.

**************

After they made it to the relative safety of the showers, Bucky turned to glare at Steve, “you fucking self-sacrificing idiot!”

Steve put both sets of clothes on the bench and stepped into the wide open shower room. He turned on the water, letting his head hang, not defending himself to his lover’s anger. That asshole had lied! He’d never intended to leave Bucky alone in exchange for Steve’s obedience. That fucking ass had forced Steve to force Bucky through all that . . . for nothing! Steve slammed a hand against the tiled wall, fortunately not cracking it, tears running down his cheeks at his humiliation and impotent anger. He couldn’t help Bucky . . . he’d only made things worse.

Bucky stripped off his clothes, removing the bandage as well so he could rewrap it after the shower and moved to stand next to Steve, “why the fucking hell didn’t you tell me?! These guys don’t fucking mess around, Steve! This isn’t high school . . . you can’t just punch your way through your problems!” Bucky was livid . . . he couldn’t understand what had just happened. 

Slowly, softly, Steve’s broken, defeated voice came, “he promised he wouldn’t touch you. Wouldn’t let you be hurt.”

“Steve! I get hurt every fucking day! Now you’re his fucking pet! Goddammit, Steve! Do you ever think about what you do? Jesus fucking Christ!” Bucky pressed his forehead against the moist tile, trying to calm himself down. “You’re worse than fucking TJ!”

Steve let the pounding hot water cleanse his body of the evidence of their forced love making. He kept his head bowed. The argument was an old, familiar one, but this time the consequences were more dire than he’d ever thought. “I’m sorry . . .” the blond said, knowing it would never be enough.

Bucky shook his head, running his fingers through his wet hair, the warm water making the wounds on his arm sting. Sighing, the brunet looked at Steve, “you okay? I - - I didn’t hurt you too bad? I know there was blood . . .”

Steve shook his head and finally looked at Bucky. “It actually was kinda like our first time. So, not too bad,” he answered. “A bit sore, but I’m fine.” He glanced at the injuries and softly said, “he told me about your arm, but he probably lied about that, too. He said a _client_ got rough and you fought too much.” He shifted his eyes to Bucky’s.

Looking down, Bucky clenched his jaw and let out a broken sigh, “it _was_ a client. The guy liked rough shit . . . I’d only been here for about six months. He - - he grabbed my arm and pinned it against my back. When . . . when I heard the snap - - I fucking panicked, I started to thrash and he only held on tighter.”

Steve reached over and pulled Bucky against him, hugging his boyfriend for the first time in a year, their bodies flush. “God, I wish I could undo all the pain,” he murmured into Bucky’s neck, kissing softly.

Relaxing slightly at the touch, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve, the water from the shower running down his spine. “I keep telling myself that I only have one more year . . . one more year until I can get Beck, TJ, and me out of here. But Steve . . . I don’t think I’m gonna last that long.”

“That history teacher. You believe what _he_ says?” Steve asked, letting his large hands run over Bucky’s back, kissing his neck again.

“About all the security? Yeah . . . the only way I can see getting out is,” Bucky lowered his tone so it couldn’t possibly be heard over the spray of water, “is Pierce’s limo in the garage.”

“So, we find a way out of the house, past the dogs, into the garage, hotwire the car and ram it through the electrified barbed wire,” Steve laid out the path of that idea.

“Say it like that and you make it sound _so_ . . .” Bucky smirked slightly, a sudden hope sparking in his chest. 

“Easy?” Steve suddenly grinned, his fight coming back to his eyes suddenly.

“But we can’t leave anyone here, Steve. If we get out . . . they’ll clean up shop. They’ll kill all the kids.”

“How do we get twenty-four people into a limo?” Steve asked practically.

“It’s a big limo?” Bucky offered, tone unsure.

“Why does Schmidt stay here if he’s the good guy?” Steve frowned.

Pushing away his wet hair from his eyes, Bucky shook his head, “I don’t know . . . maybe Pierce has something on him? Something really bad?”

Steve sighed and kissed Bucky’s neck again, hands moving to rest on his waist. “Then we need to rescue him, too? That’s a lot of people, Buck.”

“I know . . . we need to get everyone in on this . . . that Stark and Banner kid . . . aren’t they supposed to be geniuses or something?” Bucky asked.

Frowning deeper, Steve growled, “Stark’s a spoiled pain in the ass. Think he’d be able to keep his mouth shut?”

“He wants out just as much as everyone else . . . he’ll have to keep his mouth shut.” Bucky supplied, looking at Steve.

With a nod, Steve moved his lips to Bucky’s mouth. After a brief kiss, he whispered, “if it gets too much, Buck, just remember there’s no cameras in the toilets or showers.”

“Steve . . . I need you to promise me something.” Bucky said, pulling away slightly.

“What?” Steve asked, frowning softly. “I’ll do anything for you, Buck, you know that.”

Sighing, Bucky nodded, “If I can’t get out . . . I need you to promise you’ll get Beck out first . . . no matter what.”

Wanting to protest that Bucky _would_ be getting out, Steve sighed. He nodded, understanding completely. “If I can save Beck, I will, Buck, and TJ, too. But I won’t leave you behind. Ever.” His blue eyes hardened with his vow.

“He’ll need someone, Steve. I - - I get sick a lot . . . he’s gonna need someone to look after him. Please.” Bucky looked up at Steve with intense eyes. “And TJ . . . he’s . . .” the brunet sighed and shook his head, despair gripping his heart at the thought of how much this place had changed his once innocent brother.

“Look, Buck, I’ll happily take care of Beck and TJ for the rest of my life, if you want, but that doesn’t mean I’d leave you here. I’ll find a way to get you _all_ out.”

“I hope you do . . . I’m just saying . . . Beck gets out first . . . no matter what.” Bucky stated firmly, hoping TJ would be able to fend for himself.

Nodding, Steve assured, “Beck, first. Then I get TJ and you out. I promise.” He stroked his hand down Bucky’s hip and reluctantly pulled away. “Think they time the showers?”

“Probably,” Bucky shrugged, missing Steve’s gentle touch immediately.

“Where can we get more stuff to wrap your arm, Buck?” Steve asked before they turned off the masking water.

“I can’t risk Mr. Schmidt again . . . I’ll just rewrap it and hope it doesn’t get infected?” Bucky said as he turned off the water. “The bandages didn’t look too dirty or anything.”

“Maybe if you can find a way to wash and dry the bandages, you can wrap it before we have to go to sleep tonight,” Steve said softly.

“Good idea,” Bucky muttered with a small smile.

Reaching for one of the towels kept handy in the room, Steve quickly dried off. He watched Bucky, knowing he couldn’t touch him or help with his arm, because they were back on camera again.

Bucky quickly pulled on his boxers and trousers, before putting on his shirt, the brunet grabbed the bandage and looked at it, “they do _look_ clean,” he murmured, looking at Steve.

“But your arm was leaking pus, Bucky, which means the bandages aren’t as clean as they might seem. They need washing out. Besides, there’re flecks of blood on them.”

Nodding, Bucky moved to the sinks to begin washing the thick bandages in the sink, intent on getting them as clean as possible. Before Bucky could get them wet, Steve grabbed them and ripped off a hefty chunk that had been against the wounds. He handed that part over for washing, keeping the _’outside wraps’_ dry. “Here, the less we wash, the less needs drying.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said and took the offered material. He held the dirtied bandages under the running water, washing them to the best of his ability.

Steve offered soap then finished folding the remaining bandages and, after dressing, slipping them into his uniform jacket, on the off chance they weren’t being watched and they could smuggle them into the cell.

Bucky finished cleaning and rinsing the bandages and moved to grab another towel, trying to dry them as best as he could.

“It’s hard to believe TJs changed so much,” Steve said softly, looking over at Bucky. “He was such a sweet kid.”

Sighing, Bucky’s jaw ticked and he nodded, keeping his eyes on the bandages he was drying, “yeah, I know. It only took about a month and a half before . . . he started acting like . . .” he shook his head again letting the sentence die off before he could call his own twin something he, himself, hated being called.

“Like someone put him on serious drugs and made him _service_ the staff?” Steve’s voice took on a bitter note. “How the hell did Beck manage to stay outta that?”

“TJ and I made a deal with Pierce,” Bucky said softly, “Pierce wanted to use him . . . but we promised to do whatever we could to keep Beck out of those lessons. Plus, turns out, Beck is actually really sneaky and good at theft.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Steve laughed at the irony, that the kids would be sent to learn to be legal, but were trained to break the law. He shook his head, “so, my _deal_ already sucks. How’s your’s been working out for you?”

“No one’s touched Beck, aside from the beatings, so, it’s the best I could ask for . . . I just wish that TJ . . .” Bucky swallowed and bit his bottom lip, “I don’t know if it makes me a bad brother, probably does, but . . . I’m more focused on getting Beck outta here.”

“You said TJ was in on the deal with Pierce, right? So, TJ knows what the cost might be, what you’ve both agreed to.” Steve sighed. “When we can get outta here, we get TJ into a good rehab and counseling.”

“You don’t understand, Steve, it’s like . . .” Bucky took a deep breath, “it’s like he _likes_ what they do to him. How do we fix _that_?”

“I don’t know,” Steve growled softly, frustrated. “But it can’t hurt to find a counselor, right? I mean, they’d be able to figure out if TJ’s nuts or needs something else or just . . . really into kinky shit.” Running a hand through his damp hair, Steve looked at Bucky.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Bucky sighed and nodded, picking up the bandages that were as dry as he’d be able to get them. “It’s my fault he’s here, ya know? He hadn’t done anything, it wasn’t like he attacked the cops or was accused of sleeping with a kid. He was sent here because he was _my_ twin. They didn’t want to separate us.”

“So, basically, you’re blaming the fact that seventeen years ago the egg split and produced two of you?” Steve tilted his head.

“No, I’m blaming the fact that I was stupid enough to get caught in the first place. We hadn’t been doing anything wrong . . .” Bucky sighed, running his fingers through his long hair.

“Except cashing my mom’s security checks and keeping it secret that she’d died the year before,” Steve sighed, an echo of Bucky.

“TJ should have never been sent here, Steve, he should’ve gone with Junior and Fred,” Bucky’s voice shook, looking guilty and angry at the same time.

Pushing away from the sinks, Steve shook his head. “So, I guess we’re both glad Beck’s twin died when they were two?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m _glad_ about that, but . . .” Bucky sighed and wrapped the mostly dried bandages around his injured arm.

Steve unwrapped the awkward job and rewrapped them securely. He then pulled out the extra wrapping and secured the inner bandage with the dry outer ones. “Put your jacket on and see if the sleeve covers that?”

Doing as he was told, Bucky pulled on his shirt and then the jacket, the long-sleeves _did_ cover the bandages. “I suppose we should get back . . .”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, don’t wanna push our luck.” He turned to leave the room.

Bucky followed, nearly bumping into TJ and Johnny as they were heading in the same direction. Both TJ and Johnny looked like they’d been crawling around in their uniforms and had bloody injuries. Johnny a gash over his right eye and TJ had a split lip, and _both_ smelled of sex. “Oh . . . hey, Teej, uh . . . Johnny,” Bucky greeted softly, stepping back to give them space.

Johnny nodded to Bucky and his cousin Steve. “The dungeon’s nice this time of evening. Ever had the pleasure?” he said, in a conversational tone.

TJ snorted, rolling his eyes in a playful manner, but he didn’t say anything.

Eyes widening, Bucky looked between Johnny and TJ; he’d only been to the dungeon twice in his entire year he’d been at the academy. Both times, Bucky had passed out before Rumlow could finish with him . . . the guard really let go once in his dungeon. “Are you guys . . . okay?” Bucky asked softly, trying to determine if his twin was more hurt than he let on.

“Been better, but they didn’t get to do much because Mr. Pierce sent us to bed. We have the wonderful delight of looking forward to our punishment tomorrow instead,” Johnny said, tone turning dark. “We should go back to our rooms, though.”

TJ nodded and tugged Johnny further down the hall, not even realizing that their hands were still entwined.

Sighing, Bucky followed his twin and Johnny, “c’mon, Steve.”

Steve trailed behind the others, eyeing his cousin and the once pure TJ with regret. Maybe he couldn’t do anything about Johnny’s criminal past but, it was a lot to do with Steve’s relationship with Bucky that had landed TJ in this hell. He had to make it up to the brunet somehow.

The foursome made it back to the cells and into their assigned rooms. TJ had let go of Johnny’s hand right before they’d entered the initiation area.

Steve’s eyes widened and he glanced at Bucky to see if he noticed the other pair had actually been holding hands in the hallway. Steve reluctantly turned away from the others and entered his cell, glancing over at Sam. “Hey, Samuel,” he said softly.

Looking up at his roommate, Sam said softly, “hey, Steven, lessons go . . . okay?”

“Very . . . enlightening. I recommend taking the dexterity classes if you get a choice, because the physical ones aren’t up your ally at all.” Steve sighed and began peeling off his uniform to hang up for laundry collection, per the binder. He noted Sam had folded his onto a chair. “Samuel,” Steve whispered, “binder says they do laundry pickup of the uniforms every day and the only ones they take are hung up and on the bar of the doorway.”

Sam stood up and took his clothes, hanging them up like Steve had suggested.

Riley’s uniform appeared on the proper bar once Bucky was inside the cell and the door closed, and shortly it seemed that others caught on because a soft rustling of people getting up, moving around, and clanking their uniforms into place roved up and down the corridor. Clint’s was the last to appear, once Pietro made it clear to the deaf boy what was needed.

Shortly afterwards, Pierce strode around the corner and down the corridor, accompanying three other staff members the boys didn’t know. They began to collect and notate the uniforms. Pierce turned once he was in front of TJ and Johnny in room twelve. “Good night, students.”

Riley, Bucky, and Beck echoed back, “good night, Mr. Pierce. Thank you.”

TJ, despite knowing that he _should_ echo the good night call, remained completely silent, staring up at the bottom up the top bunk.

Pierce shook his head and said, calmly, “students. When you are given a good night greeting, you give it back. Good night, students.”

This time, Clint and TJ were the only two who said nothing. Pierce lifted an eyebrow and gave TJ a long stare. He then moved down the cells. “Which of you neglected to give me goodnight wishes, students?”

“Oh,” TJ called out, voice laced with defiant sarcasm, “were you sayin’ something, Mr. Pierce?”

“Mr. Barnes is on punishment for rudeness,” Pierce replied easily. “Anyone else?”

Bucky frowned, unsure which Mr. Barnes was being punished. He’d assume it would be TJ, but with Pierce, one could never be sure.

“Very well, students. I will see you in the morning.” He walked from the corridor and up the steps, his footsteps fading.

Once all the staff disappeared, Clint’s voice quietly, droning in and out, up and down in volume, asked, “what did he want?”


	8. A Fresh Day of Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Extreme violence, Attempted Medical Procedures, Unsafe Equipment, Restraint, Referenced Non-medical Drug Use**

The lack of windows in the corridor didn’t allow the teens to know when the sun rose or how long it had been up before a single staff member walked into the corridor and slammed something metallic across the bars of the first cell, drawing a waking scream from Sharon. He moved down the line of cells to the end then switched sides and moved back down to the entrance of the hall, never saying a word. By the time the man was done and had disappeared back around the corner, no one could have slept through the racket . . . except their deaf student.

Blinking awake, Bucky quickly got changed into a clean uniform, knowing it would only be a few minutes before a staff member came back to escort them to their breakfast and classes.

Riley and Beck, who was behind the curtained area of her cell, also were changing, Steve and Johnny quickly following suit. Turning to lean close to the bars so his whispering voice carried to Beck’s cell, Steve began what he’d termed a _‘whisper campaign.’_ He said, “get dressed and grab your binder, pass it on.” Steve then moved back out of the way of the bars and continued to button his jacket.

The whispering campaign passed through the cells until all the students were getting up and dressed. Pietro had to shake Clint awake and then point to the boy’s uniform and binder to tell him to what to do.

Nodding, offering a thankful smile, Clint hurried to dress and grab his binder, after relieving himself and washing up. He was the last one in their row to be ready, but on the other side, it took Johnny a little longer as his eyes kept crossing and he had to lean on the bed as dizziness washed over him. His injured forehead had swollen and bruised badly in the night, revealing internal bleeding must have happened.

TJ watched his roommate, his boyfriend, worriedly before stepping over, despite rules not to, and helped the blond finish getting dressed. Making sure Johnny’s tie was straight and buttons in the right holes.

As if the fates were especially evil that day, that was the precise moment Brock led Jack down the corridor, catching TJ red handed with his hands on Johnny’s half sealed uniform jacket. A slow grin spread over his face and he called out, “Jackie, open up twelve. We got us a pair of sluts.”

Leering, almost happily, Rollins opened cell twelve for his partner.

Rumlow barked out, “get outta the cell, boys! Now!”

Johnny struggled up from his leaning pose, swayed, turned a bit paler, but managed to make it to the middle of the hallway. TJ followed close behind his roommate, his own uniform not completely done either, having been focused on helping Johnny.

Nodding, Rumlow gestured with one hand. “Strip!”

Eyes widening, TJ looked around at all the students watching, including his own siblings. He’d never been forced to strip in front of all the students before.

Johnny clamped his mouth shut tight, his lips going paler as he literally pressed them shut, and he fumbled his jacket buttons back open without argument.

Steve looked towards Bucky for any clues as to what might be happening, noticing the misery and confusion and shame warring on Riley’s features. Was this punishment something new in the arsenal?

Bucky looked just as shocked as Riley, though he also looked furious for what his twin was being forced to go through.

Taking a shaky breath, TJ began to unbutton his uniform, stripping his half fastened uniform within a few moments before he stood completely naked in front of all the students, whole body flushed bright red in embarrassment.

Johnny was several beats behind his roommate before his clothes, including boxers, were off as well, folded somewhat neatly over his arms but not held to cover his pelvis. He merely looked like he wanted to lay down or puke or both.

Nodding, Rumlow suddenly struck Johnny across the back with his billy club then TJ cross the abdomen. He continued to wallop the boys, one then the other then the first, over and over, bruising their backs and torsos, driving them to the floor without a single word. Stepping back, panting and flicking blood from his club, Rumlow growled, “and that is what you get for touching another student, boys. Anyone got questions?”

Silence reigned, except for a muffled sobbing coming from Johnny and a whimper occasionally escaping from Sharon.

TJ coughed, spattering blood on the cold, cement floor. He shakily pushed to his hands and knees and then pushed back to rest on his knees. The lean brunet looked up at Rumlow, body shaking and breath coming out in soft wheezing.

Rumlow looked over to his partner. “Open the cells and let the students out for breakfast. Not a one of them better get blood on themselves. These two can stay behind and clean up their mess.”

A single almost amused baritone came down the hall from one of the cells. “Dear Mom, glad you’re dead so you don’t have to visit. The school’s great, the food excellent, and the lessons to die for.”

Jack walked over to the end of the corridor; he looked but there was no way to tell which student had said it.

Rumlow stiffened from where he’d been cleaning his club on the material of Johnny’s jacket. He glanced at his partner. “What little shit said that?”

“What’s the . . . matter . . . _Brock_?” TJ smiled up at the guard, teeth tinted red with blood.

Rumlow growled, low and angrily, “every little fucker here whose mother is dead, get your ass in the hall right now!”

Steve drew a breath and stepped into the hall, though by the angle of the voice, Brock and Jack would know it hadn’t been him.

“Did . . . your Mamma die?” TJ wheezed, “or . . . did she . . . just leave ya . . . ‘cause you’re an . . . ugly motherfucker?”

Rumlow grabbed TJ by the throat and lifted him then threw him against the cell bars. “Shut the fuck up!”

A scream broke past TJ’s lips as something _popped_ in his right leg as he collapsed to the floor, a sound very much like a gunshot echoing in the chamber, ignored by the enraged guard.

A hand covered TJ’s mouth suddenly, and Johnny growled out, “no, TJ, can’t take another beating right now, babe.” He trembled, but Rumlow didn’t seem to care that Johnny had just touched TJ to shut him up.

Turning and looking down the group of cells, only one student having voluntarily left a cell, admitting to a deceased mother, Rumlow screamed out, “Jack! I want the files of every fucker in here! I want to know which assfucking mother’s son made fun of my punishment of a damn student! And I want that bastard in my dungeon before breakfast congeals on their untouched plates! Everyone fucking doesn’t eat until I know who said it!”

Tony Stark stepped out of his cell and straightened his tie. “Just trying a little humor to lighten the morning. Maybe too much caffeine?” He looked at the enraged pair, knowing he’d have been caught anyway and wanting things to go just a bit easier on himself and his roommate, a lanky cat burglar named Scott.

Rollins grabbed Tony by the back of his collar and dragged the teenager over to his partner, shoving him closer to Rumlow, causing Tony to get some of the blood on his trouser bottoms and shoes.

Rumlow walked over, grabbed Tony by the neck and growled, “and his fucking loser roommate who wouldn’t tell us just who made such a disrespectful comment. Let me introduce you fuckers to the dungeon.” Rumlow pushed the billionaire teenager down the corridor and towards his domain, Jack dragging the shocked looking Scott behind them, ignoring the fact that they’d left the rest of the kids free.

Steve ran back into his cell and grabbed a towel then came back out and threw it on the floor to kneel on, so he could check the two severely injured boys. Johnny’s hand finally slipped off TJ’s mouth.

TJ groaned and he tried to push off the bars, his entire body aching with each and every breath he took. The lean brunet simply collapsed when unable to move his body. Bucky crouched down next to Steve, eyes wide as he, too, began to check on his twin. He’d never seen Rumlow get _that_ violent before.

Riley hurried away from the kids towards the end of the hall, keeping a lookout for anyone coming. He kept glancing down as the group hovered in confusion and horror, watching Steve and Bucky try to aid the injured pair.

“Ain’t . . . that . . . bad,” TJ tried to assure the other boys, but he coughed again, barely managing to lift his hand to cover the splatter of blood before it made a mess on Bucky or Steve’s uniforms.

Clint suddenly ran down the hall and around the corner, disappearing in the distance. Riley never stopped him, letting him do whatever he wanted. Technically, they should all either go to breakfast or back in their cells, depending on if Rumlow’s last order still stood.

Beck grabbed several towels from the cells and began trying to clean up the floor around the boys, working as quickly and neatly as she could. Glancing up, she softly, firmly ordered the other kids, “either get to breakfast or help!”

Natasha walked over and began helping Beck clean up the worryingly large amount of blood. Her emerald green eyes lit with fury at having witnessed the two teenagers be so severely beaten.

The sound of Riley hissing came to the group, “teacher!” He raced to get to his cell and slipped in, leaving the towels around the kids.

Swallowing a curse of frustration, Bucky stood, pulling Steve back with him so they were back in their cells, away from the two injured boys. Natasha followed suit. Other students started hurrying into their cells in imitation, no one wanting to bring down such wrath as they’d witnessed that morning.

Sharon frowned and stiffened, turning as if to confront the unknown approaching staff member.

TJ tried to pull himself to his feet, using the metal bars, but as his fingers were coated in blood, his hands slipped and he collapsed once more with a groaning whimper.

“Get into your area, Miss Carter,” Johann Schmidt’s voice ordered calmly as he walked past the angry girl, Clint at his heels. He took in the sight of the boys, the blood, the obvious attempts to clean up and aid the teens, but rather than commenting on such, Johann knelt right next to the relatively still Johnny and touched the teen’s throat. He paused then looked to TJ. “Stay down, Barnes,” he snapped softly.

In too much pain to argue or come up with a snappy comment, TJ simply slumped against the metal bars. He tried to focus on anything other than the pain, but his entire body hurt.

“Ladies, you are to report to my classroom with your binders and sign in. You will find your schedules. Follow them, but skip breakfast. You may study until your first classes. Gentlemen, strip down and report in this corridor once your clothing is secure.” Schmidt didn’t look up or notice Beck going pale and desperately looking towards Bucky.

Bucky, who’d already begun unbuttoning his shirt, froze and looked at his sister with wide eyes, equally unsure of what to do. 

Steve turned to Johann, thinking quickly, “Beck shouldn’t see this, sir, please? Send him with the girls . . . and Peter. Send Peter, too. Any of the younger ones.”

Peter opened his mouth then let it shut, looking at his own, scarred, roommate.

Wade was already almost undressed, his face twisted in a severe scowl, the thud of the billy club smacking against the teen’s flesh echoing in his ears. He looked at his sensitive seeming roommate and nodded firmly, Steve was right, Peter shouldn’t be forced to see such horror or deal with the aftermath.

Johann sighed and nodded, “fine, Mr. Rogers, take the other sixteen year olds and the ladies to my classroom and obey my instructions. Any male seventeen year olds will stay and assist me. I put Mr. Rogers in charge of Clint for now. Make sure my _pet_ obeys.

As the younger males and the female students moved to quickly grab their binders, Clint obeying what he saw the majority doing, Steve opened his mouth to protest, caught in a trap he hadn’t realized he’d made for himself, as another sixteen year old. He shot Bucky a look then glanced to Beck and knew he could do as Bucky asked the night before: keep an eye on Beck. Steve went to wash his hands off and grab his binder, joining the others heading towards Mr. Schmidt’s classroom.

Johann snapped quickly, “those undressed start either cleaning up the mess or try to help me stop this bleeding. No, Thomas, stop moving! You’re only making it worse!” He quickly worked on Johnny, apparently worried about the large blond’s stillness but not calling for medical help from Dr. Zola.

Bucky, stripped down to his boxers by then, knelt by his pained, miserable twin who wouldn’t stop squirming. “Hey, Teej, c’mon, stop moving . . . you’re gonna be fine.”

“Mr. Barnes, James,” Johann didn’t look over. “Clean your hands, put on your robe, and grab your binder. Report to my room. If another staff member challenges you, direct them to speak to me, even Mr. Pierce. Go to the room I tested you in and bring me back the red container. Do not forget to bring your binder everywhere you go. Come back quickly.”

Nodding, Bucky reluctantly stood back up, TJ whimpering at the loss of his twin. The larger twin hurried to follow Johann’s orders, leaving the corridor within mere moments.

Riley took Bucky’s spot, stroking TJ’s hair very carefully and meeting the pained pale eyes. “Hey, TJ, I’m right here,” he crooned.

TJ looked up at Riley, coughing, sputtering more blood, and whining at the pain, trying to curl up into as small as a ball as possible.

Sam and Wade had both started cleaning, both teens kept looking at the injured pair with fury in their eyes. The pair of six foot four inch strawberry blonds, Jarvis and Jonas, both knelt by TJ and held him in a lying down, not curled, position. Neither spoke, hadn’t spoken the day before either, and both seemed equally grim. The one with a series of red-colored tattooing shook his head, blue eyes troubled, while the other, sporting black-colored tattooing, made sure TJ stayed as still as possible.

Johann looked up. “The other twins,” he said and looked back down. He didn’t acknowledge their names, merely that they were yet another set of twins enrolled in the school. “Who can lend me a hand here? I need pressure on Storm’s neck!”

A very powerful looking blond, as large as the lanky tattooed twins, sank down and offered his powerful hand for Johann to firmly place over Johnny’s neck. Johann moved to tend TJ, “do not move your hand until I instruct you to, Odinson.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied in his Scandinavian accent.

Bucky hurried back, carrying a torso sized, heavy and sealed box. Luckily, he hadn’t run into any problems, a small miracle he was thankful for.

Johann glanced up and looked relieved, his dark eyes worried and angry. “Thank you, Barnes. Aid the Pierce twins in calming your brother.” He took the box and opened it, revealing first aid equipment.

Kneeling back down next to his twin, Bucky spoke soothingly to TJ, “don’t move, Teej, it’s alright. I know it hurts, we’re gonna make it feel better.”

Johann prepped a pair of needles and moved to inject TJ quickly with one of them. “That is pain medicine and should work within five minutes. This next is an antibiotic.” He injected again. Johann did the same for Johnny then began bandaging the blond boy. “If someone has first aid knowledge, please tend to Thomas’ injuries. Try to be gentle, even with his narcotics.”

Riley looked up at Sam. “You had the best score in Scouts for first aid, Sammy,” he whispered. Riley was busy aiding the teacher in his own attempts to help Johnny.

Nodding, Sam moved over to tend to TJ’s injuries.

Within the half hour, Johann seemed to relax, as if the emergency had lessened. He looked up and nodded. “Take some sheets and blankets. Roll the sides stiffly. Let’s get these boys on the improvised stretchers and everyone aid in getting them to my quarters. You will hold the rolled sides as if they are poles, try to keep the bedclothes as stiff as possible.” Johann had made sure both boys had neck braces one, though he didn’t have back support for either teen nor anything to support TJ’s obviously damaged leg. Glancing up, he sighed and shook his head, but merely began helping the small group of students in moving the pair from the hallway, TJ couldn’t stop the small scream as he was moved, all still in bloody underpants, but leaving less of a mess behind, despite the heap of bloody towels.

Once they got to the classroom, Johann following with his red box, the teacher looked inside and nodded. “Soon you will be required to go to classes. You will find that missing or injured students are all too common here. If anyone questions you, reply that Mr. Schmidt is dealing with it. Even if Mr. Pierce questions you. Mr. Rogers, send Clint to my rooms in ten minutes then join in the regular classes. Your cousin and friend will recover.” The teacher guided the older group down to the same room he’s treated Bucky in the day before, apparently his own bedroom suite.

Inside the room, Johann had the boys lay the pair on the floor, not the bed. He then nodded and put his box down. “You are all to go back and finish cleaning up your corridor.” He handed Bucky a set of keys. “Replace the used linens and make all rooms acceptable for inspection, Mr. Barnes. After everything is clean, and the group is clean, then dress in your uniforms and report to classes. Mr. Barnes, you will bring me back that set of keys before reporting to class. Are my orders understood?”

Taking the keys, Bucky wanted to argue that he should stay with his twin.

Before Bucky could walk out the door, Johann said, “before getting dressed, bring all used linens to me. Anything with blood is to come to me, not the laundry. Now, tell your brother he will be well in my care and do as instructed.” Johann checked on Johnny, who had fallen asleep and breathed in a more relaxed manner, ignoring as the students began leaving.

Swallowing thickly, Bucky once more knelt by his brother, gently running his fingers through his bloodied curls. TJ looked like he was barely conscious, eyes nearly closed though his breaths still came out in wheezes, “you’re gonna be fine, Teej, Mr. Schmidt won’t hurt you or Johnny. Just do what he tells you,” Bucky let out a shaky breath and leaned down to place a quick, gentle kiss on his twin’s forehead before hurrying out of the room.

Johann moved to TJ’s side and leaned over the teen. “Do you need a second dose of medicine, Thomas?” he asked gently.

“Breathe . . . hurts . . . leg . . .” TJ slurred.

“You most likely have broken ribs, Thomas, and a broken leg. I can do very little without taking you to the medical suite, which I am loathe to do. Would you like another dose?” Johann checked TJ’s bleeding, leaving the boys in the stiff neck collars and on the unyielding floor. He began to improvise a leg splint from chair rungs and ties from his own supplies and furniture.

TJ never answered Johann as the lean brunet slipped into unconsciousness.

Waiting for Bucky’s return, Johann continued to work between the teens, ignoring the blood, dirt, and even other fluids on his own outfit, long destroyed in his efforts to save two young lives. At the brunet’s return, Johann looked relieved. “Come in here and bring Clinton with you. I see him lurking in the corridor behind you. Lock the door.”

Bucky let Clint walk in first and then followed the blond, locking the door behind them.

Nodding, Johann sat back on his heels and stared intently at Bucky. “They are severely injured, James. I am going to report this to Mr. Pierce.”

Eyes widening, Bucky swallowed, looking at his twin who looked so small, so pale, “w - - will that honestly help?”

“Yes, it will, James. You see, a suffocation, hanging, or slit throat or wrist might be put down to teen suicide, but two severely battered teens cannot. Mr. Pierce cannot turn a blind eye to the possibility that he could have lost two children to homicide and had no ready answer for it. He will reign in Mr. Rumlow and Mr. Rollins enough to make sure no other child is this severely injured. I cannot prevent the sadistic behavior of Dr. Zola or the punishments, but I can prevent murder hopefully.” Johann sighed.

“But . . . they’re gonna be alright, right?” Bucky’s voice shook with the fear that TJ may still die.

“They will recover, as I will have them confined to my suite until they can move on their own. I refuse to send them to medical.” Johann stood up at last, groaning at the stiffness in his limbs from crawling around on hard floors so long. “I will insist on rotating students in to help care for them, and insist that it will serve the students as reminders of why they must obey, as Mr. Pierce will certainly not tell them that he has forbid further severe beatings once I lodge my complaint.” He looked at Bucky. “You have been here long enough to realize that one must work within certain boundaries, play by certain rules, to get positive results, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky nodded, still holding the bundle of bloodied fabrics.

“Please put those in my tub, as yesterday. Plug the tub and run only cold water into it, until the tub is half full. I will soak out the blood so no one will be in trouble for messing up the linens. Once you are done, you may go get cleaned up and dressed. Please put the keys over there on my nightstand. I would keep you longer, but I am only permitted my own _pet_ for special classes, which this is considered. I will arrange first aid punishment reminders for the rest of the students, including you. This time, I will be unable to exclude the younger students or females from the punishment, however. Beck will participate.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky murmured, walking into the bathroom to soak the linens and on his way back he set the keys on the nightstand.

“When you are dressed, feel free to sign into one of the pads in my classroom to get your schedule then report to your class. I will message your teacher with a hall pass.” Johann moved to clean up his hands before reaching for his own pad.

“Yes, sir,” Bucky replied politely; he gave one more glance to his battered, bruised twin.

“Trust me, James. The boys will recover. I will make sure of it.” Johann tapped on his pad then put it down. “Once I am sure they are not broken, I will make sure they are comfortable.”

Swallowing, Bucky moved towards the door, “thank you, sir,” was the last thing he said before slipping out of the room.

Johann turned back to the boys and sighed. He moved to his closet, pushed his suits aside, and pulled out a series of jury-rigged pieces of equipment he’d long ago confiscated from Zola’s suite as unsafe. Now he worked to make the x-ray device as safe as he could so he could determine if either boy would be paralyzed by the brutal attack.

**************

It wasn’t until lunch when all twenty-two remaining students were once more together again, the seats for room twelve conspicuously empty. Johann’s intervention, and messages, had prevented Tony and Scott from being just as severely damaged by the enraged Rumlow, so that pair of teens sported the _‘normal’_ sorts of injuries often spotted in that school. Once the students took their seats, Pierce stood and looked over the room, frowning softly.

“As you know, two of our students were caught in a questionable, compromising situation and were severely punished for breaking the rules. This is unfortunate, but I hope you have all learned that any infraction is serious in our eyes. You have been entrusted to our care for discipline because you could not follow society’s rules so far. As further reminder of the seriousness of breaking our carefully considered regulations, Mr. Schmidt has requested each student rotate through his domain to help care of the injured students, so you will all see the results of such wickedness. As Samuel and Kestrel have had first aid training in their former lives, they will be reporting to Mr. Schmidt directly after lunch for first rotation. You own turns have now been added to your electronic schedules, so do not neglect to keep your appointments. Anyone who misses a regular class will be allowed to make up such time after dinner during free time instead of your normal pursuits. Please, enjoy your meal and quiet discourse as per our regular social rules.” Pierce sat down in his chair and didn’t even look to Rumlow and Rollins before picking up his fork to begin eating his roast beef.

Bucky couldn’t focus on anything, the morning’s brutal beating replaying over and over in his mind. TJ and Johnny’s involuntary cries of pain as Rumlow hit them over and over again echoing in his ears.

Beck lifted a shaking hand to brush her hair from her eyes. “James? Is . . . is Thomas going to be okay?”

“He’s going to recover,” Bucky answered softly, pale eyes miserable; he hadn’t been able to get any other information on his brother than that. By the wheezing TJ had been doing, Bucky could only assume he had broken ribs, but that was the extent of his knowledge. It had been obvious to everyone in that room that TJ’s leg had been damaged, and by the makeshift splint Johann had made, Bucky was fairly sure his twin’s leg had been broken.

Clint looked at Bruce next to him and reached over to tap the table right near the boy’s hand; Clint had been the only student not in any of his assigned classes that day.

Bruce looked over, appearing as shaken as the rest of the students.

Clearly intelligent, Clint had figured out ways to communicate without words, so he gestured to Bucky then his own shin then Bucky again. He picked up a roll and tore it, pointed to his shin, then pointed back at Bucky.

Looking between Bucky and Clint and then the broken piece of bread, Bruce’s eyes widened in horror, on a low whisper, he said, “Thomas’ leg was broken?”

Clint had carefully watched Bruce’s mouth, but could only identify a couple of shapes, not used to lip reading. He again repeated his actions, pointing to Bucky, then touched his own ribs and point to Bucky again.

Bruce debated telling Beck who sat next to him. Would Beck want to know the severity of TJ’s injuries? Swallowing thickly, Bruce leaned in closer to his roommate to report on a shaky breath, “Clint just told me . . . Thomas’ leg and ribs are broken.”

Eyes widening, Beck looked at Bruce then past him to Clint, whom she was forbidden to try to communicate with. She looked across to Bucky. “James?” she whispered harshly. “Broken leg and ribs?”

Taking and releasing a shaky breath to hold back a sob, Bucky nodded solemnly. He didn’t say anything, his mind racing with questions. How long would a broken leg take to heal? Would it affect TJ’s long term health with improper medical attention? Now, more than ever, Bucky wanted to visit with his twin.

Steve looked at Bucky then over at Bruce. He softly asked, “and Johnny? Is he . . . okay?”

Bruce tapped by Clint’s hand to draw the boy’s attention.

Clint looked at him with dark grey-blue eyes.

Leaning back so Clint could see as Bruce gestured to Steve, and then broke his own roll with a questioning look. Hopefully the deaf boy would understand.

Clint shook his head and pointed to his own head then shrugged.

Softly, though clearly, Bruce asked, “is Johnny okay?” He hoped he spoke slowly enough for Clint to read his lips.

Clint shook his head again and pointed back to his own head, then pointed at Steve, then back to his own head. He had understood the word _‘Johnny’_ when he saw Bruce pronounce it and assumed that was the other boy’s name, the injured blond. Clint traced one finger over his eyebrow then down the side of his face.

Looking back at Steve, Bruce sighed, “cut on the eyebrow, maybe? Concussion? I’m not too sure what he’s trying to tell me.”

Steve deliberately didn’t look around Beck at Bruce. Instead, he kept his eyes on Bucky and waited for Bucky to say Bruce’s words, not wanting to see another student punished for forgetting the rules.

Bucky repeated Bruce’s translation softly, trying to eat small bites though he felt nauseous.

Steve nodded. “Thanks,” he said, loud enough for Bruce to hear, too.

**************

As Sam and Riley had been assigned the rotation straight after lunch, Bucky and Steve later were matched to help aid Johann in caring for the two injured boys. Bucky hadn’t seen TJ since early that morning and both of them were assigned the late night shift, the last one of the day. When Sharon and Natasha came back from their shift, they came down the corridor to tell Bucky and Steve that it was time for them to go up. The blonde girl shook, her skin pale and eyes frightened. Natasha’s face seemed cooly calm, almost detached, but Bucky could see the sympathy and anger in those vibrant green eyes which the redhead couldn’t hide.

Pushing back his own fear, his own traumatic experience at seeing his twin brother so brutally beaten, at hearing TJ’s pained screams, Bucky straighten himself and stepped out of his cell when a staff member opened it. The staff member did the same at Steve’s cell, letting the tall blond step into the corridor. The brunet tried not to look at the red tint that stained the cement floor, where TJ and Johnny had bled so much. Bucky led Steve from the long hallway and up towards Johann’s room.

Nothing could prepare Bucky for what he saw when he opened that door: TJ was so pale that, if he wasn’t trembling violently and covered in sweat, Bucky would think his twin was dead. However, it wasn’t just the bruises, varying in size and severity, covering his twin’s entire chest that made Bucky’s heart ache - - TJ was completely restrained to the bed! The smaller teen writhed and whimpered, seeming lost to a fever that Bucky hadn’t even known TJ had.

“Why is he restrained?” Bucky asked, eyes wide; he didn’t even look at Johnny, or Johann next to the bed, his entire focus on his brother.

The teacher quietly said, “if I were to un-restrain him, Thomas would try to re-injure himself further either accidentally or on purpose. He is going into a very serious case of withdrawal from the non-medicinal drugs he’s apparently been addicted to. I do not have the customary counter-drugs and cannot use exercise to counter his symptoms, so I must resort to this. By the time your brother will be allowed from his bed, he should, for better or worse, be sober.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open slightly; he’d assumed that the staff had been giving TJ drugs . . . but for it to be confirmed made Bucky’s heart ache that much more.

Steve drew in a deep breath and looked at his cousin, who seemed to be quiet, watching and relatively uninjured, despite the fact that the blond teen had been as severely beaten as TJ had. “Mr. Schmidt? I don’t really see anything wrong with Johnny, aside for some bandages on his face?”

“Your cousin is suffering from a head injury and a couple of broken ribs. I’ve carefully dosed him to keep him docile so I can monitor his head and make sure the swelling is going down. It so far has not gotten worse, which is very good news. I would have sedated Thomas, as well, but drugs do not work as well with him.” Johann stood, and revealed that he was shaking horribly with fatigue despite having the student do much of the hard work. He’d had to work non-stop in training the children to care for the severe injuries the teens had, without rest or even food it seemed.

“Sir?” Bucky said softly, looking at the exhausted teacher, “you . . . can rest, sir.”

He offered Bucky a small smile. “I have Clinton picking up my evening meal, but I cannot relax until he returns. One does not know how the kitchen staff will take my request for in-room meal service for my two patients and I. Mr. Pierce has assured me that I will be provided what I feel I need within reason, but,” Johann looked Bucky in the eyes, “what is reasonable to others might not be deemed the same by me. I do not dare to push too hard when i know they’ll need long term care.”

Stepping closer to the bed, Bucky frowned softly when he could _feel_ the heat coming off his brother. The larger twin looked down at the makeshift splint on TJ’s right leg, which was bruised and swollen, the limb looked what Bucky could only describe as _wrong_. TJ simply continued to whimper softly and writhe, weakly attempting to pull at his restraints.

Steve walked over to TJ’s bed and reached down to stroke carefully over his forehead. “Hey, Teej,” he softly greeted his old friend, “I’m here and so’s Buck. We’re gonna take care of you.”

“Wan’ . . . go . . . ‘ome,” TJ murmured pitifully; it had been the same three words he’d been repeating over and over again. His pale eyes sluggishly lifted to look up at Steve, “wan’ . . . go . . . ‘ome.”

Steve ignored Johann to lean over and kiss TJ’s forehead, like his mother used to do so long ago. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothed. “Do you want some water?”

Johann allowed to intimate contact and soothing attempts. He drew a shaking breath and said, “I will show you both what to do and I will try to get some sleep. However, if you have need, do not fear waking me. Best for _me_ to lose sleep rather than let the boys get bad enough that I am forced to send them to medical.” With that, the teacher began showing them how to check the boys for certain symptoms, ease what they could for pain, deal with the swelling and the continued bleeding, though Johann had that pretty much under control by that time. He showed how to check for infection or other problems in the healing process and then how to administer the medication for either boy. He had a makeshift chart for each tracking how much and how often and which kinds. Apparently, Johann had placed both on antibiotics but did not indicate where he’d managed to get such drugs.

“Mr. Schmidt?” Bucky asked softly, turning his attention from his twin.

With a tired sigh, but no sign of annoyance, the man said, “yes, James?” He looked at the boy.

“Thank you,” Bucky breathed, voice sincere, “really, you - - you didn’t have to do this . . . and you did. So . . . thank you.”

Nodding, Johann sank back to his chair and softly said, “James, I became a teacher to guide and nurture children on their path to adulthood. Unfortunately, I wound up having to attempt to do this in hell. But, my goal is the same no matter the situation. I still wish to guide and nurture my charges. If I was to allow the kind of blind brutality that happened this morning, the next step would be group murder.”

Looking back at his twin, Bucky ran his fingers through TJ’s sweat-damp curls, TJ’s hair had been washed of the blood sometime during the day, “his leg? Will - - will it be okay?” he asked softly, feeling bad for keeping the teacher up but that question had been burning in his mind all day.

“I can heal it with my small skill and poor knowledge, but without true medical help, I am afraid he will never walk well again. His bone was severely broken in several locations and I could not effectively set it properly.” Johann shook his head. “He needs a true hospital, and competent staff, Mr. Barnes, neither of which I am.”

“And there is no way to get him out,” Bucky sighed softly, running his fingers through TJ’s hair again. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, all this time he’d been so worried about Beck, about getting _Beck_ out . . . while his twin was being forced to take drugs and do God knew what else. He’d failed his twin.

Steve leaned down to check on TJ again, soothing a large cool hand across the boy’s feverish forehead. “Mr. Schmidt, why don’t you just report the school? Surely the authorities would believe you?”

Johann sighed. “I have no idea if they would believe me, Steven, but I have no access to the outside world. Recall, we do not have access to the internet nor phones. I am not permitted to leave the grounds of the school. I have not set foot from these grounds since the day I stepped into the job, seven years ago.”

“‘Unnels . . .” TJ muttered, eyes rolling up to look at Steve again.

“Hush!” Johann snapped harshly. “Now is not the time to speak,” Johann’s eyes immediately went to the door.

Bucky looked between Johann and TJ, who kept murmuring the same word despite the teacher’s warning.

The door opened and Pierce walked in without asking. He nodded at seeing the restrained TJ and docile, drugged Johnny, as well as the pair of students merely standing by the other teens.

Steve pulled his hand from TJ’s forehead, “I can tell he’s feverish, yes, sir,” Steve said as if he’d been told to check by the teacher.

Pierce smiled his oily smile at Bucky then Steve. “How is the project advancing, Mr. Schmidt? Are the students attentive to their new classes?” The man treated the care of two severely injured students in far from ideal settings as if it was a planned addition to a normal curriculum.

Johann nodded. “All have responded discretely and attentively. I feel there will be no future problems once the special class has ended.”

Eyeing Bucky, Pierce smiled wider. “And how do you find the lessons, James?”

Bucky’s jaw ticked slightly, but he gave the headmaster a small smile, “very informative, sir.”

“Steven?” Pierce turned to the larger boy, who merely dropped his head without saying anything. Pierce let it go. “The lessons will not last long, James, Steven, so learn wisely and well. And perhaps in future such accidents might be avoided. You are both excused from night lessons for the immediate need of this training, but do not expect such negligence for long. You must both continue your regular education shortly.”

Johann didn’t protest and Clint appeared at that very inopportune moment with a large tray of food and supplies for Johann, TJ, and Johnny. Pierce nodded and left, shutting the door quietly behind him, but no sound of footfalls moved off down the hall.

Eyes watching Johann, Bucky waited, knowing Pierce was, in all probability, listening outside the door.

“Very good, Clinton,” Johann called in a reasonable tone the entire room’s population knew was useless with the deafened boy. “Set the supplies there and you may resume your seat. James, Steven, both of you will now learn how to feed a recalcitrant patient. James,” Johann gestured towards TJ, “you may feed Jonathan, and Steven may feed Thomas,” he gestured towards Johnny.

Pierce could be heard softly leaving the hall. Johann held up one hand then quietly approached the door, pausing, then opening it to look outside. He shut the door, satisfied they were alone once more. He turned to the others. “See if you can get some of the juice and broth into them, please. Clinton can assist. I’ll be sitting in my chair.” Johann sank back into his chair and closed his eyes, sitting up to sleep.

Taking a glass of juice and a bowl of broth, Bucky set the bowl on the nightstand as he tried to help TJ get a drink of the juice. Even if his arm was feeling better from the medicine Johann had been giving him, it still trembled.

Without opening his eyes, Johann softly said, “you may spoon feed him if it will work, James. Even juice can be spoon fed. And your own dose is in that drawer there. Do not neglect your own antibiotics.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky answered politely; he set down the juice by the bowl. He stood to get his own dose, and after he took it, he returned to his brother’s side.

Clint stood, watching Bucky intently as if looking for instructions or questions. He lay a hand on a small notebook but kept his eyes on Bucky.

Bucky looked at the deaf boy, knowing Clint was waiting for Bucky to tell him what to do.

Steve looked from Clint to Bucky to Clint’s hand. He walked over and slid the notebook from Clint’s hand, bent on telling the other boy to rest as well since he’d been helping all day. But when Steve opened the notebook, he looked surprised and began flipping through. “Hey, Buck,” he said softly, “here’s instructions how to administer the medicine shots and change the dressings and everything!”

“That’ll be helpful,” Bucky said softly; he sank back on the edge of the bed and tried to spoon feed TJ some of the juice but TJ whimpered and shook his head sluggishly. He looked up at Steve, “does the notebook say if TJ’s been refusing food?”

“Yeah, he’s not eating anything they’ve tried,” Steve sighed while flipping through the book.

Sighing, Bucky nodded and spoke in a soothing tone to his brother, “hey, Teej, c’mon you got to eat something. Just a little.” TJ whimpered in return but opened his mouth slightly so Bucky could feed him.

Steve had less trouble trying to get food in Johnny. His problem lie in feeding his cousin without drowning him, having to support the other blond with a strong arm while spoon feeding him the various liquids Clint had provided.

After a while, Bucky was content with the amount he’d managed to get in his brother. TJ whimpered again, pulling at the restraints, his pale eyes clouded with pain and the fever. The smaller twin muttered again, “‘unnels . . . ‘unnels . . .”

“Hush,” Johann said again, his eyes still closed, his tone tired and a bit raspy from interrupted sleep. Apparently, he’d attuned himself to listening for TJ’s voice. “No one is going to do what you say until you are better, Thomas. Relax and heal.”

Frowning, Bucky looked over at Steve, wondering if his boyfriend was understanding what TJ was trying to say.

Steve shook his head, indicating he had no idea what TJ was attempting to tell them to do. He shifted to sit on TJ’s other side, letting Johnny rest a bit, and petting the brunet’s hair gently. “It’s okay, TJ. Once you’re better, you can show us what you mean.”

“‘Ut,” TJ murmured, “‘unnels . . .” the brunet lifted his eyes again to look at Steve, as if begging the blond to understand.

Nodding, Steve responded, “of course, but not until you’re back on your feet, Teej. Nothing without you, too,” he soothed, still not understanding but hoping to calm his friend.

Whimpering again, TJ swallowed thickly and tried to pull at the restraints again, though the weak attempt barely tugging at the bindings.

“TJ, calm down. You’re tied so you won’t accidentally hurt yourself. I’m sure shifting hurts your broken ribs,” Steve calmly informed the boy.

Johann’s voice came to them again, “so far, no one has gotten him to rest or stop, Steven. If he could find relief, he might avoid puncturing a lung.”

Taking a deep breath, Bucky situated himself so that he could stroke his fingers through TJ’s hair. In a soft voice, Bucky began to sing a soothing lullaby that their mother used to sing to them when they had nightmares.

Softly, Johnny’s voice sounding as if he swam up from the depths of sleep, the injured blond said, “hey, boyfriend, once you can walk, we’ll get them outta here.”

It was between Bucky’s soft singing and Johnny’s promise, the first words his boyfriend had spoken all day, that TJ finally relaxed and let his eyes close.

Offering a soft smile in TJ’s direction, Johnny moaned very softly. “Even all messed over, he’s the prettiest guy around.” Johnny let his eyes close again, missing the shocked look on Steve’s face.

Bucky looked just as surprised and his pale eyes inadvertently flickered to look at Johann, wondering if the teacher had heard Johnny’s admission. The teacher looked like he still slept lightly, not responding in anyway to Johnny. Clint tapped the notebook, looking back and forth between the other students.

Taking the notebook, Bucky flipped through the pages to see what Clint might be referring to.

Apparently at some time during the day, whoever had written the neat medical notes also wrote down a series of random letters and numbers. Clint nodded as he saw what Bucky came across, smiling proudly.

Tilting his head, Bucky looked down at the numbers and letters, unsure what he was looking at. He handed the notebook over to Steve to see if the blond could figure it out.

Steve looked over the digits and letters and shook his head. “Clint, you know you aren’t supposed to tell us your passwords, right?” he asked before looking up and flushing when he remembered Clint wouldn’t be able to hear them.

Taking the notebook again, Bucky reached for a pen and wrote out, _‘why are you giving us your passwords?’_ He handed the pad back to Clint.

Clint leaned over and carefully, left handed, wrote, _‘not mine. His.’_ He gestured one handed to Johann who seemed unaware. Clint added _‘that opens the medicine area in medical and the garage.’_

Eyes widening, Bucky quickly gave the notebook to Steve so he could read what Clint had wrote down.

Steve studied the codes intently, memorizing them. Even when he’d been a tiny scrapper, Steve had one of the best memories any of them had seen. He nodded and handed it back. Out loud he said, “bunch of nonsense, huh?” Steve met Bucky’s eyes, licking his lips absently, a sure sign he was plotting something.

“Yeah, can’t make any sense of it,” Bucky replied, handing the notebook back to Clint. He knew Steve had an idea forming, but they wouldn’t be able to do anything until Johnny and TJ were better.

Clint closed the notebook and hugged it close, looking quite delighted. He gestured to the calmed TJ then to Johnny and tilted his head, paused, then pointed from Bucky to Steve. Trying out his voice, Clint’s odd loud and soft speech a bit worrying, the boy asked, “are you _‘friends,’_ too?”

Once again looking at Johann to make sure he still had his eyes closed, Bucky looked at Clint and nodded, “yeah, we’re friends.”

“When I get out, I’m gonna find Barney,” Clint determined, most of his attempt in an uninflected drone this time, level in volume.

Unsure who Barney was, Bucky gestured for the notebook again so he could communicate with the boy.

A look of surprise crossed Clint’s face and he offered the notebook.

Taking it, Bucky flipped to a new page and quickly scrawled, _‘Is Barney your friend?’_

Clint shook his head and wrote, _‘little brother. After Mom and Dad died, we went to the system. But then they sent me here and I don’t know where Barney is.’_ He looked at Bucky, sliding the notebook back, eager, it seemed, for communication.

_‘TJ, Beck and I don’t know where our little brothers, Junior and Fred, are either,’_ Bucky wrote and then added, _‘I hope we all can find the people we lost when we were sent here.’_

_‘Any idea why they sent me here? What kind of place is this?’_ Clint wrote.

_‘It’s a school for juvenile delinquents or people that need special help,’_ Bucky wrote, _‘but that’s just the lie Pierce uses to get students.’_

Shock crossed Clint’s face and he shook his head. _‘Never been in trouble once in my life! Barney’s a thief, but I’ve never done anything! Why’d they put me here?’_

_‘I’m not sure, but, we’re gonna get everyone out,’_ Bucky promised, looking at his brother and adding, _‘once TJ and Johnny are up and moving.’_

Nodding, Clint purposely flipped the notebook back to the medical instructions and tapped the part about giving shots. He pointed to TJ then the schedule, indicating that it was time for TJ and Johnny’s antibiotic.

Bucky nodded and rose so he could grab the shots; he handed one off to Steve.

Carefully, Steve reviewed the notes in Clint’s book before administering the shot to Johnny. Bucky did the same before giving his twin the medicine. Clint nodded and gestured to the chart, for them to add their notes to everyone else’s. Steve nodded and wrote down both shots, initialing as if he was the one who administered both shots, instead of Bucky touching his twin.

The next two hours passed rather slowly and quietly, Clint guiding the boys, between yawns, in what was needed while allowing Johann to sleep despite the teacher’s supper getting stone cold and congealed. Finally, a small alarm went off from Johann’s watch and he awoke, clicking the alarm button and hurrying over to check on the teens. He nodded and ran a hand over his hair.

“Thank you for your careful attention boys. Same time tomorrow. Go back to your rooms and get some rest.” Johann looked at the three uninjured teens.

As if sensing his brother leaving, TJ’s eyes opened and he gripped Bucky’s wrist. He whimpered and didn’t let go, not letting his twin leave. Bucky froze, looking between TJ and Johann, he didn’t pull away though.

“I cannot give permission for you to remain in special lessons, James, as I have a _pet_ already. I am sorry,” Johann walked over and gently petted TJ’s hand. “Allow your brother to go rest and I will see he visits before breakfast in the morning.”

Whimpering, dazed and pained eyes looking up at Johann, TJ slowly uncurled his fingers from Bucky’s wrist. Bucky leaned down to kiss TJ’s forehead and then stepped back, not letting himself look back at his twin, knowing if he did, it’d be almost impossible to leave.

Steve stroked TJ’s and then Johnny’s hair and left without a word, Clint accompanying them as Johann moved his chair to by the bed on TJ’s side, taking the boy’s hand and soothing him once more.

TJ looked at Johann, “you . . . ‘now . . . ‘unnels . . .”

“Of course I do, Thomas,” he assured softly. “And once you are walking, you may show off your education to your school mates. In order to do that, you must heal.”

“‘Kay,” TJ murmured, not taking his eyes off the teacher, “‘ou ‘ome?”

“I will attempt to guide my students in all their endeavours until they are no longer on school grounds, Thomas,” Johann reassured carefully.

That seemed to reassure the injured teen enough that he fell back under, eyes closing and breathing evening out slightly.

**************

Steve waited until they got back to the cell level, knowing they’d be watched and eavesdropped on the entire time anyway. Once at the cells, in front of the waiting staff members, Steve turned to Clint and Bucky. “That was an interesting lesson. Good night.” He waited for the polite reply, as manners dictated.

“Good night,” Bucky answered and turned to walk into his own cell.

Clint intoned, “Good night,” and also walked into his cell, glancing over at Pietro before climbing out of his uniform and putting away his binder. He’d left his notebook with Johann where it was reasonably safer than with the students.

The cell doors clanged shut and the staff member left. Waiting for a long moment, Steve softly called out, “Good night, Samuel.”

“Good night, Steven,” Sam called back.

Knowing his roommate was awake, Steve leaned over and whispered softly, “Johnny woke up and spoke.”

“That’s good, he hardly moved when Kestrel and I were in there,” Sam answered and then said, “did you guys get Thomas to calm down? Eat something?”

“Yeah, he ate for James,” Steve responded. “He seems to be doing okay.” Steve had no clue if the staff were listening, so he kept the conversation careful. “Kept asking to go home. I think he misses his mom, you know?”

Sam sighed softly and nodded, TJ had been muttering that same phrase over and over again when him and Riley were helping Johann, “is his mom still alive?”

Sighing, Steve whispered, “not sure. They were missing for two years before services found out. But, we always hoped they’d come back.” Shaking his head, Steve said, “it’s been three years since we’ve seen their parents.”

“That’s rough,” Sam replied, keeping their conversation quiet, “I could see why he’d miss her then.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “She was great. Like my mom. She was great, too.” Steve paused and softly asked, “what about your folks? Were they nice?”

Chewing his bottom lip, Sam sighed a bit louder, but kept his voice quiet, “they’re alright, I guess. Sent me here,” he didn’t add that they had lied to him, told him that Riley had died in the car accident.

“Well,” Steve said for the benefit of any listening staff, “they have to want what’s best for you, sending you to a prestigious place like this. The disciplines harder than I expected, but I guess I can see it with delinquents and stuff,” Steve lied smoothly, knowing Sam would understand the truth.

Sam winced softly; though in the darkened room, the expression wouldn’t be caught on camera. “Yeah, they do what they have to, to guide us on the right path.”

“Sam, you’re seventeen right?” Steve asked softly.

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed softly, “you?”

“Nope, sixteen, won’t turn eighteen until June in a couple years. I’m here until graduation,” Steve sighed. “My mom’s dead and my dad won’t let my cousin’s family take me in. He sent me here.”

“Johnny’s your cousin, right?” Sam asked, staring up at the bottom of Steve’s bunk.

“Yeah, we’re born around the same time, but he’s older than me by a year.” Steve sighed. “You? Any family?”

“Just my folks,” Sam answered, “Dad’s a pastor and Mom does everything he says. It was his idea to send me here.”

Turning a bit so Sam could hear him while he whispered, Steve asked, “because you’re friends with Kestrel?”

“Well, that was part of it,” Sam nodded, keeping his voice low, “after the accident and . . . well, I started acting out. Folks put up with me for a year before they couldn’t handle it anymore.”

“After they took the Barnes siblings away, and Dad put me in the system, I acted out, too. I was stealing cars and stuff. Guess that’s the wrong approach, huh?” Suddenly, Steve’s brain began going over the security features Schmidt had told them in testing that night. And the passcode to the garage . . . and medical? Why would he give them the medical codes unless it could help them? Steve didn’t dare talk about it to Sam, but he knew that he’d have trouble sleeping puzzling over the possibilities suddenly opened up to them all: tunnels, limo, passcodes, medicine . . .

Steve fell asleep in the middle of a whirl of plans.


	9. Things Get Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Anxiety, Nightmares, Post Traumatic, Death Threats, Unsanctioned Medical Procedures**

In Johann’s suite, TJ, still restrained, trembling and covered in a thin layer of sweat, started screaming in his sleep. Thrashing and fighting against the bindings, once more jarring his broken bones, but the teen was too lost in the withdrawal-induced nightmare that the intense pain didn't even register. TJ continued to thrash, screaming and trying to get away from what appeared to be something or someone holding him down. Some of the cuts that had clotted and begun to heal busted open, draining blood onto Johann’s bedsheets.

Exhausted, but intent on doing right by the pair of boys in his care, Johann moved to once again soothe the teen suffering through the withdrawal pains. The teacher had his own ideas what drug the boy might have become addicted to, but he wasn’t certain. Thus, he tried to treat the boy as if any symptom was more than withdrawal related, just in case. Running a cool cloth over TJ’s head and neck, Johann murmured an ancient lullaby in his native Germanic tongue. He had resorted to the singing when he’d noticed it had helped Bucky earlier, though the teacher was unfamiliar with the tune the student had used. He felt the soothing singing might just do some good, so he tried. Leaving the cloth on TJ’s forehead, Johann began carefully winding a bandage over each of the newly bleeding areas once more, intent on fighting infection as best he could.

Whimpering, TJ seemed to calm down; though his eyes didn't open, he'd stopped thrashing and screaming. The teen looked paler than he had before and his entire body shook violently. “Wan’ . . . go . . . 'ome,” he murmured, the words almost incomprehensible.

Johann sighed softly and began his lullaby once more, going back to cooling the cloth and running it over TJ’s face and neck. Glancing over at Johnny, noting the boy silently watched his every move, Johann couldn’t get upset that the blond refused to sleep. Truly, with the head injury Johnny had, Johann was more afraid when Johnny _did_ close his eyes. Sinking onto his chair, Johann continued to sing, taking TJ’s hand in a soothing grip of his own.

TJ’s eyes opened slightly and he looked over at the teacher; it was clear he wasn't lucid when the teen murmured, “Dad? You're back?”

Johann didn’t interrupt his song, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with TJ’s delusion. If it brought the boy comfort and helped him to rest, certainly Johann would allow him to call him dad, but Johann was not going to feed the illusion either, concerning about doing more damage in TJ’s weakened state.

“Why . . . 'ou leave? We didn't . . . do . . . anything . . . why you . . . leave?” TJ muttered, his hand tightening on Johann's.

Carefully, Johann began translating the lullaby into English instead, still not answering the charge of being TJ’s missing parent. Instead, he used his free hand to bathe the boy’s face and neck with cool water. “Rest, now, TJ,” he spoke softly, using the nickname he’d heard Bucky use earlier.

“You . . . left . . . we love you . . . and you . . . left us,” TJ whimpered, clouded, unfocused pale eyes meeting Johann's.

Heart breaking for the seventeen year old, Johann met that confused, lost gaze and merely repeated, “rest, TJ. Time to rest. Heal. We may talk later.” He began softly singing once more.

“Promise?” TJ slurred, though it was obvious he was slipping back under.

Without making the begged promise, Johann merely continued his song, using the cooling water to soothe and distract the young man. It wasn’t time to medicate TJ, so Johann allowed natural exhaustion to overcome the youth.

Within moments, TJ had fallen back asleep, his hand still loosely encircled in Johann's, it was clear that the boy thrived on physical contact.

Johnny, Johann noted, finally allowed his own eyes to close and fell into sleep with a soft sigh. The teacher continued as he was, hoping he could replace the lost sleep the next day. Certainly any humanities classes had been shunted into study periods for the children with his newly self-chosen nursing classes being run at all daylight hours. But someone needed to keep watch in the night and the children were not permitted from their cells.

**************

Relief filled Johann as he watched Johnny come back out of the bathroom on totally stable legs. The teacher sat by TJ’s side yet again, stroking his hand and crooning the lullaby. Four days had passed, and four very long nights, and finally Johnny was on the mend and appearing very little worse for the wear, except for a couple of broken ribs which made the blond move with caution. Now, with morning classes coming and the first of the student helpers, Johann could anticipate some sleep yet again.

The door opened without warning, as was often Pierce’s style, and the headmaster strode in, practically into Johnny’s path. Startled, the teen did a double-take and hissed out, arm going to protectively cover his bruised sides right where the three broken ribs were. Pierce smiled and stepped out of the way, allowing the student to return to Johann’s bed.

“It looks like at least one student has benefited from playing patient,” Pierce drawled, glancing over to Johann where he sat by TJ.

Nodding, Johann said, “as long as he allows his ribs to heal another month and a half, he should hopefully be fully recovered soon, Mr. Pierce, yet. Jonathan is a strong young man.”

Johnny sat down carefully and looked from Johann to Pierce, knowing he was about to be sent back to the cell. Pierce had seen him walking with little show of pain.

Proving Johnny’s insight to be correct, Pierce said, “well, that will be one less play patient, I am afraid. We cannot let Jonathan’s education go lacking any longer than it already has. He will resume classes, except for physical education, today.”

TJ let out a soft whimper at the announcement, actually coherent enough to understand what was being said around him. The last four days hadn’t been kind to the lean brunet, who’d only managed a few hours of sleep here and there, before be woken up by severe, vivid nightmares. TJ looked exhausted and sick, with his pale, clammy skin and constant tremors.

Johnny accepted his fate without comment, knowing Pierce would address him if he wanted the boy’s opinion. Instead, he remained sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, not touching TJ at all; he didn’t want Pierce to separate them even further or punish either of them for physical contact. The last time he’d let TJ touch him in public, they’d both wound up inadvertently revealing what a good man Johann Schmidt was. He still had no idea what form of punishment this meant for the humanities teacher.

Pierce walked around to TJ’s side, nodding as Johann let go TJ’s hand. Pierce carefully bent closer to the brunet and reached out a hand, hesitating as if about to do something disgusting, and touched TJ’s forehead carefully.

Whimpering again, TJ actually tried to shy away from the touch, though his every move was sluggish, dazed blue eyes rolling up to look at Pierce.

“Well, Thomas, you appear to still be quite ill. You better not be trying to make me a fool by malingering,” Pierce warned softly.

“No . . . ‘ir,” TJ murmured, another painful tremor wracking through his frame, backing up his claim of being ill.

“Well, I suppose this means you will still need student aids, Johann?” Pierce backed away from TJ as if he were contagious.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Pierce,” Johann said, sounding as tired as he looked. “I believe the current rotation for instruction is satisfactory, though Jonathan may join the rotation in the lunch time slot, if permitted. He can bring his roommate’s lunch to him, eat with him, then clean up after them both? So far, I have had no one in during meal breaks, and so, without Jonathan, Thomas will suddenly be lacking in the socialization you are proud our students can achieve. Thomas will be confined for several more weeks until that leg is stable enough for transferring to a wheelchair and bearing the brunt of weight from sitting up. Lack of socialization could be detrimental.” Johann took the place Pierce so readily evacuated, once more reaching over to soothe at TJ’s flesh.

After several long minutes of watching Johann, Pierce frowned severely. “Why are you constantly pawing at the child?” Disgust dripped from Pierce’s tones.

“Because without touch, a patient can grow petulant and try to move more than he should. To prevent Thomas from becoming a recalcitrant patient, I have instilled a strict policy of hand or head touching only. The students are aware, and closely monitored, when working with him.” Johann looked over at Pierce, his expression neutral, as if he spoke about a broken toaster rather than a seventeen year old boy.

Nodding as if reluctant, Pierce sighed. “Very sensible. Jonathan may spend meals socializing with his roommate in the normal fashion, tones controlled and conversation appropriate. I will check again on the student when duties allow.” Pierce whirled around and strode from the room.

As soon as Pierce left, TJ tried to grab at Johnny with a low whine, but the restraints stopped him from coming in contact with his boyfriend.

Johnny noticed the attempt by the restrained boy and took TJ’s hand, soothing him with a low tone, “I’m here, babe. Gonna be here for every meal.”

Turning his head slowly, TJ whimpered again, “don’t . . . leave me . . . too.”

Johnny stroked TJ’s hand and said, in a very confident voice, “oh, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here every mealtime, TJ. Give you something to look forward to, seeing my pretty face again.”

Smiling weakly, the first smile the brunet had given in four days, TJ curled his long fingers around Johnny’s hand. The smaller teen sluggishly lifted his eyes and they seemed focused on something at the top of his boyfriend’s hair, “you . . . dye your . . . hair?”

Surprise lit the teen’s face and he burst out into laughter. “Yeah, have since I was fifteen. My whole family are blonds and I feel like a freak having black hair. Guess dying’s not an option in this place, though.” He also had four days growth of beard, not thick but definitely there and dark.

“Like . . . it,” TJ breathed out, lowering his eyes to look at Johnny’s face, “gonna . . . miss you . . .”

“But I’ll be back soon. Promise, Babe. Ain’t gonna be able to beat me off with a stick. They already tried, didn’t they?” Johnny joked and rose to his feet.

Reluctantly, TJ let go of Johnny’s hand, “be . . . safe, okay? No . . . trips to the . . . stars,” the phrase seemed odd, but TJ hoped Johnny would get his meaning.

“Yup, so I can come back to you. No stars for me. My heart is firmly on the ground now.” The blond looked to Johann, hoping the man wouldn’t get upset with them; despite his leniency so far, he could always reveal a disgust for two boys together.

But Johann merely stood and patted TJ’s other hand. “It is time for you to get ready for the day, Jonathan. If you wouldn't mind, I will stipulate that you be woken, carefully, earlier than the others to come here to shave, shower, and dress, so you may receive instructions on how to act during meal times as no longer a patient. I feel I can get you perhaps a few days grace for your ribs if you cooperate fully.”

“Thank you, sir,” Johnny said respectfully, thankful he wouldn’t be struggling in a small cell to try to care for his morning ablutions while still in so much pain.

Johann nodded and walked to the door. He made a quick note on his own notepad and turned to the tall blond, who wouldn’t be remaining blond long now that his hair was growing out from the dye job. “To your room, gather your things, and return here. Fortunately you are already showered, but you will be expected to shave and dress in uniform before retrieving the trays of food.

Johnny nodded and stroked TJ’s hand once more. “Be back soon, babe,” he promised and left the room slowly, carefully, due to his incredibly painful ribs.

As Johnny left, TJ let out a shaky sigh and tried to get comfortable, though his entire body ached. In the back of his mind, a small spark of fear lit up; this was the first time he’d been completely alone with Schmidt. In his past experiences at the academy, being alone with a teacher only meant one thing. Even though Johann hadn’t done anything remotely sexual or purposely painful, TJ still feared he’d end up being like all the other sick staff members.

Johann moved about the room, tidying things, not even glancing at TJ more than a few seconds at a time to verify he was still okay. Once the bedroom was in order, Johann slipped into the bathroom and cleaned up after Johnny. He then took the opportunity to relieve himself, not shutting the door so he could keep an ear on TJ. He washed up and came back just to sit by the student once more. “How are you feeling, Thomas?” Johann asked, “would you like a pain medicine today?”

“No, pain . . . medicine doesn’t . . . work,” TJ looked at the teacher; another aching tremor ran through his body, making the teen whimper, “something . . . else . . . they took . . .”

“Can you explain, please?” Johann’s voice sounded soft, curious, and caring. He had not told TJ any of the things he’d revealed in his night terrors.

“Brock . . .” TJ didn’t even seem to realize he used the guards’ informal first names, “and Jack . . . they gave me . . . stuff . . . I - - I tried not to . . . take it.”

Nodding, Johann informed the currently lucid teen, “yes, and you have been going through some heavy withdrawal symptoms due to the drug no longer being administered. I cannot tell which one or ones they used on you, so I have been careful with treating you.”

“They never . . . said,” TJ reported, “I didn’t . . . want to . . . I didn’t want . . . this,” his pale eyes looked up at Johann, clouded with misery and pain, a small hint of humiliation. “I . . . didn’t want to . . . be what they . . . made me.”

“Of course you didn’t want to become an addict, Thomas. No one does. But you will be clean if you follow my harsh treatment. And you will regain your health slowly,” Johann moved to sit down again.

“They’ll just . . . make me take it . . . again,” TJ whimpered, swallowing thickly.

“Ah, but Thomas, for now you are in my care, and they can only offer, not force. Refuse any medicines they offer, any food. I shall make sure you are provided safe, clean provisions.” Johann leaned closer, “and when you are well enough, I believe you may roam once more to your heart’s content.”

“You said . . . I wouldn’t walk . . . well,” TJ pointed out softly.

“I am afraid I could not properly set your bones, TJ. Your leg will heal oddly and you will limp ever more.” Johann looked sympathetic, stroking the boy’s hand once more.

“Will it . . . hurt? Like . . . Bucky’s?” TJ asked, his leg throbbed dully, feeling tight and swollen; he’d hate for it to hurt for the rest of his life.

“It may hurt, but not like your twin’s. I used no metal, did not introduce any foreign substances or experimental tactics. Any pain you feel will be unfortunate but unavoidable, Thomas, I am sorry.”

TJ nodded slowly, “it’s okay . . . better me . . . than one of the others.”

“If you insist,” Johann didn’t protest the martyred statement. He merely checked TJ’s bandages and splint while the boy was lucid enough to answer questions about his health if needed.

A soft knock on the door alerted them and Johann moved to open the door. Johnny stood there with a very large tray, which he put on the bedside table once Johann let him in. “Told you I’d be back, TJ,” Johnny laughed softly as Johann locked the door once more.

Humming softly, TJ gave a small smile in Johnny’s direction, “still ‘issed . . . ‘ou.” The brunet’s speech began to slur together, signaling he was heading back under. It had been the longest time TJ was lucid in the last four days.

Johnny nodded. “I missed you, too, Babe.” He managed to get a bit of soup into TJ before the teen was too far gone. When meal time ended, Johnny stood and, per Johann’s suggestion, left the bowl of soup and the glass of juice; as TJ woke during the morning, others could try to get more into him. Johnny kissed TJ’s forehead carefully, while Johann was looking the other way, before he left the room.

The next pair to come in was Sam and Riley, but they had two very unwelcome followers. Brock and Jack had stopped by to pay a visit.

“Well, sleeping in the day, huh?” Rumlow drawled out.

TJ’s eyes opened slowly and he looked momentarily confused before he whimpered and tried to pull at his restraints. The line between reality and his nightmares had just been blurred together; so far, neither of the guards had been in the room to visit.

Brock looked over at the two standing students. “Well, if you’re learning health care, don’t stop. Get to your lessons!” he ordered on a bark. “Strip him down and give him a bedbath.”

“No, Mr. Rumlow, that will not be needed. He was bathed yesterday,” Johann said, smoothly.

“Doesn’t look it,” Jack said simply, gesturing to the pale teen in the bed with a disgusted grimace. “He looks gross.”

“He is covered with bruises, not dirt, Mr. Rollins. And open injuries with clotted blood, a good thing if he is to heal. If he is bathed too much in his helpless state, he risks becoming infected and very ill. I could not prevent a hospital trip at that time.”

“I don’t get it, Schmidt, why not just dump him on Zola? That tiny bastard would have a ball with that leg,” Rollins’ eyes moved to the bruised and swollen leg enclosed in the makeshift splint.

At the mention of Dr. Zola, TJ began to fight feverishly, a low whine breaking past his lips.

“Calm yourself, Thomas,” Johann softly instructed, never bringing his voice above the reasonable tone. “If I did not tax the doctor with your care thus far, I doubt I will need to in future. Samuel, please check on vital signs and assessment then let Kestrel have a chance.”

Nodding, Sam moved towards the bed with a quiet, “yes, sir.” He quickly and efficiently took TJ’s vitals, marking them down. Luckily, TJ seemed to calm down slightly, though it was obvious he was terrified of the two guards still in the room.

Rumlow walked over. “Hey, you need your meds, Thomas. Got something that’ll calm you right down.” The guard reached in his pocket.

TJ shook his head, “no . . . ‘on’t want it,” the teen slurred, pale eyes lifting to look at the guard, “‘on’t want it . . .”

“Please refrain from giving the student any medications, Mr. Rumlow, as it might cause a reaction with what I have him taking already. His medication levels need to be strictly observed and even limited.” Johann walked over and stopped the other teacher from administering or even offering anything.

Rumlow frowned severely. “These medicines have been approved by Mr. Pierce himself!”

“‘On’t ‘ant . . . it,” TJ tried to shy away from the guard.

“You got a smart mouth on you, Thomas,” Rumlow growled at the student. “Been lying around without discipline too long.”

Johann shook his head and looked over at Jack Rollins. “Mr. Rollins, if you can escort your over-eager partner from here, please? It is obvious Mr. Rumlow is too eager to help and too enthusiastic to listen to the currently approved care plan.”

Jack looked stunned, but he did what the teacher asked, walking over to his partner; he grabbed Rumlow’s arm. “C’mon, whore’s outta it,” he tugged Brock closer to the door.

Growling, Rumlow allowed himself to be maneuvered from the room without throwing out the insults he wanted to. He recognized that Pierce had given Schmidt special permission over TJ at the moment, and Rumlow had no interest in being fired if TJ proved unable to heal well or quickly.

TJ whimpered again, looking up at the nearest person, who happened to be Riley, “wan’ . . . go . . . ‘ome . . .” his body trembled violently, his skin a shade paler than it already had been and it looked as if the brunet might get sick, “wan’ . . . go . . . ‘ome.” His eyes shone with desperate tears, though they didn’t spill over.

Riley leaned over and touched his forehead to TJ’s. He whispered very softly, “oh, but haven’t you heard? Once you are better, we’re going home. You, your brothers, me, Sam, everyone. You just gotta get better, TJ. Trust Bucky with the rest of the arrangements.” He stood once more and soothed TJ’s hair then took his vitals as instructed, though Sam had already done so. Riley logged his results as well. Unfortunately, TJ was forced to play patient for twenty-two students to learn first aid on. Fortunately, Johann was making sure none of the helpful students further injured the helpless teen.

“Trust Bucky . . .” TJ echoed with a sluggish nod, “I 'rust Bucky . . .” The brunet hadn't once complained about being forced to play patient; it wasn't clear if the boy simply didn't care or if he wasn't coherent enough to fully grasp what was happening around him.

Riley began checking the newly bandaged injuries TJ had opened in his delusions. He fed his friend several spoonfuls of soup and some juice as well. Finally, he settled beside TJ, offering Sam a worried look without comment.

Sam looked just as concerned; he'd hoped TJ would start to look better by then, but if anything, TJ looked _worse_. Luckily, the brunet didn't seem to refuse food anymore, and he wasn't throwing anything up, but Sam wondered if TJ was going through some type of mental breakdown. From what little Riley had been able to pass along, TJ had suffered the worse of the sexual abuse, aside from Bucky's run-in with the violent client. A person could only take so much before he finally snapped.

TJ drifted off, eyes closing and breath evening off as he slept. Though, like every other time TJ drifted off, the lean brunet started writhing and it wasn't long before he started screaming.

Riley immediately began to soothe TJ, stroking his hair and calling out to him in a gentle voice, “TJ, you’re safe now. Riley’s here. Sam’s here. We’re taking care of you. Wake up, TJ.”

Moments later, TJ whimpered and his eyes opened. The brunet looked confused and frightened. The nightmares were _so_ vivid that it always took a few minutes for TJ to completely realize that they were simply nightmares.

“Hello, TJ,” Riley offered a soft smile, eyes sympathetic. “Welcome back.” He soothed a hand over TJ’s hair again and offered some more soup and juice to the once more awake teen. “How’s your pain level?”

Dazed eyes rolled up to look at Riley, “hurt everywhere . . .” TJ muttered softly, a full body tremor running down his spine. “Leg hurts . . . worst . . .” he admitted with a whine as the tremor jostled the injured limb. The smaller teen felt like he couldn’t fully relax with the painful throbbing of the broken leg.

“I would take your pain if I could, but they won’t allow it, TJ,” Riley said softly. “Soup to make you strong?”

Grimacing softly at the mention of food, TJ allowed Riley to feed him some soup. His stomach couldn’t take much food, the nausea constantly threatening to make any food he ate come back up.

After about only four more spoonfuls, Riley set the bowl down and stroked TJ’s hair gently. “There, that should settle fine. Would you like me to read to you, TJ?” He worriedly glanced to Sam again.

Sam glanced at Johann, his brown eyes just as worried as Riley’s. “Sir,” Sam breathed out, keeping his voice quiet as Riley began to read to TJ, who was already beginning to doze off once more, “do you know how long the . . . withdrawal symptoms will last?”

“Two weeks at most, Samuel,” Johann sighed. He walked over to check on TJ’s injuries, not disturbing the drowsing boy. “I did put a little pain medicine into this batch of soup, so hopefully he gets a bit of relief.”

Keeping his voice very quiet so only Johann could hear and the tone couldn’t possibly be picked up by any cameras, Sam asked, “without a hospital, sir, how do we know that there isn’t any bone fragments causing even more damage to his leg?”

Looking Sam straight in the eyes, Johann replied just as softly, lips barely moving, “we don’t.”

“But, he could die, sir,” Sam’s eyes flickered to look at the sleeping TJ and then back to Johann. “Is there no way we can get him to a hospital?”

“Jonathan knows a way, but it is quite dangerous. It would also require moving Thomas.” Johann sighed and moved around the room, as if taking stock of supplies and such.

Following Johann, as if the teacher were showing him how to take stock of the supplies, Sam said, “how likely is it that he’s going to survive this without a hospital, sir?” Sam knew that he’d told Bucky that TJ would live but he wondered if Johann had been lying to keep Bucky calm.

“Survive? Very likely. Move freely once more? Almost impossible without intervention.” Johann picked up a clipboard and started marking things on it. “And if he develops an infection, survival chances decrease dramatically. You recall history classes and the child mortality rates of the American Civil War years?”

“In your opinion, Sir,” Sam murmured, licking his lips, “would moving Thomas in order to get him to a hospital be worth the risk of doing so?”

Handing over the clipboard, Johann murmured, “that depends, Samuel. If I can keep him quiet and continue with the good care you and your fellows have been providing, I think I can pull the boy through this in relative safety. But the only other medical staff here is Doctor Zola, and under that man’s care? Thomas will die within days . . . if not hours . . . and be the better for it.”

Nodding, Sam glanced back at Riley and TJ and then back at the teacher, “okay. Thank you, sir.”

Riley sighed and stroked TJ’s curls again, having not heard the troubling conversation his former lover had with the teacher. “TJ’s feverish, sir,” Riley said softly, looking up.

Johann nodded. “I am aware of that, Kestrel, thank you.”

Sam looked at the clock on the wall and frowned softly, it was almost time for them to return to their cells. The dark-skinned teen walked over to TJ’s other side and placed the back of his hand gently on the boy’s forehead before carefully moving his fingers through the sweat-dampened locks.

Riley’s fingers brushed Sam’s as he, too, stroked TJ’s hair. Stopping, Riley lifted his eyes to Sam’s and bit at his lip.

Looking over, Sam gave his old lover a soft smile, though his eyes still held that worry. “We have to go,” he said quietly, “time to switch shifts.”

Nodding, Riley stood, ending up so close to Sam their breaths mingled. He drew in a quick breath, sea-green eyes widening slightly. Very softly, exhaling, Riley whispered, “Sammy . . .”

“Hey, Riley,” Sam said just as softly before pulling back, not wanting to risk anything by remaining so close to the blond. Looking back at Johann, Sam said, “we’ll send up Tony and Scott when we get back.”

Nodding once, Johann turned to TJ and said, “thank you, Samuel. Please check on linen supplies before getting your classmates. The closets are down the hall and to the left, in the service corridor.

Sam nodded and led Riley out of the room, towards the linen closet. Once there, Sam could hear murmured voices as several men approached down the hall. Pulling Riley into the closet and shutting the door, leaving only a little crack so he could hear, Sam put his finger to his lips as he looked at Riley, pushed up against his strong body in the narrow confines of the closet.

As Riley apparently held his breath, body flush with Sam’s, Pierce’s distinct voice came from the hall. “I am displeased with his meddling. I will call the Immigrations Board and have him deported for a lapsed visa. Once Schmidt is gone, I will transfer that useless whore to the medical wing. I expect severe discipline to correct any misconceptions the man’s leniency has created.”

“Why not just make the little whore disappear?” Rollins voice carried to the teens in the closet. “He’ll be useless with that leg.”

“Because I finally located that bastard brood’s parents. And I am gaining their trust. Soon, that idiot pair will give me full control of those boys, along with the younger pair they’ve gotten back in their custody. And, the way they had the trust for those five written, hefty money comes in support of each _living_ child. Do you understand? With the boy alive, I get more funding.”

“I understand, sir,” Rollins confirmed, “but, he’s not doing good. How do you plan on keeping him alive long enough?”

“Zola will pump him full of antibiotics and hook the vegetable up to life support, of course. The parents haven’t seen their boys in so long, we trot out James in two different outfits a few minutes apart to convince them both are fine.”

“If you plan on doing that, why waste the money on keeping Thomas hooked up?” Rollins asked.

“I plan to let Zola determine what the whore needs for care. If Zola cannot heal him, the boy will die or live as Zola needs for his research, that’s why. Zola is eager for a test subject that cannot protest.” Pierce's voice stopped just a little ways down from the closet, turning a bit away as if the man spoke to someone facing the closet. “Rumlow. I want a full inventory of which boys and girls have yet to be fully funded. Which parents do not have us on the trust yet? I know the Stark brat is not funded fully. His guard dog is too greedy to sign over the trust.”

“Can’t locate anyone with a claim to Barton, so that boy’s more of a drain than anything. The state only pays so much for the juvies we get. I’d say he can go to Zola after we get rid of Schmidt.” Rumlow’s voice rasped out. “Little prick’s always ignoring us and moving so fuckin’ slow, any way. Be a relief to put him in his place.”

“Any others that aren’t funded?” Pierce asked on a slight growl.

“Yeah, your three, of course. Your girl Sharon’s here just because of her mother and the twins are only here because the ex insisted.” Rumlow responded.

“I _know_ that, idiot. My three children do not count in this. I meant proper students. I know we’ve almost got the Barnes siblings. Rogers? Is he funded yet? Has his father finished signing him over?”

“Don’t know. Jackie? Rogers sign the paperwork for your pet yet?” Brock Rumlow’s voice questioned.

“No, the man’s holding out. Something about second thoughts,” Jack snorted softly, “I think he’s thinking on taking him back.”

Pierce grumbled, “then we must remind that man that his child has _attacked_ police officers and cannot be trusted to stay in school. He needs extra watching. He’s a runaway.” An unidentified sound came to the listeners in the closet then Pierce asked, “ I know we own Kestrel. It’s why we were able to advance him so quickly. His parents wanted nothing to do with him once they’d found out he was a faggot. Wilson? Do we own him yet? Or is his father still holding out, too?”

“Says he’s holding out only because the price seems a bit steep,” Rollins reported.

“Remind the man his son needs extra schooling to drill the faggot out of him. After all, faggots can’t serve in the military,” Pierce instructed. “It’ll be worth it in the end, tell him, when the boy goes on to military greatness. What about Banner? His mother signed over complete guardianship, correct?”

“Yeah,” Rumlow confirmed and the footsteps began again, the sound of a door closing indicating the men had been discussing these affairs while rooting through the nearby paper storage closet for forms. Soon all three sets of steps rounded the corner but seemed to stop rather than fade, which put them exactly in the way of where the boys would need to go.

Riley looked towards the door, lifting one hand to scrub at his face quickly, as if not wanting to be noticed.

Sam reached out and caressed his thumb over Riley’s cheek; quietly, so only Riley could hear his voice, Sam said, “we need to get out of here. Johnny knows a way out. We need to tell Steve and Bucky.” He knew his old boyfriend was upset over the news that he’d been given to Pierce, but he tried to give the blond something to look towards.

Nodding, Riley continued not looking at Sam, trying to steady his breathing. “There’s a backdoor in Pierce’s office that leads towards the main bedroom he uses for teaching. If we get caught . . . if they go that way . . . might be safer to wait things out here . . .”

“Okay,” Sam nodded.

Riley leaned into Sam’s chest, their bodies still flush in the small closet. He pressed his face to Sam’s breastbone, drew a deep breath, then straightened and turned towards the door. It had been the first real expression of closeness Riley had given Sam since the other boy had arrived. Sam ached for more contact but didn’t dare try; he followed where Riley went, knowing the blond knew his way around a lot better than he did.

The slender blond quietly led Sam from the closet and in the opposite direction from the three teachers. Trying the shiny knob of the wooden door to Pierce’s office, Riley smiled very briefly as the door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges. He led Sam into the office and closed the door securely.

Sam looked around the office and then at Riley, “we’re gonna get out of here, okay?” He reassured quietly.

Looking up at Sam, Riley hesitantly put his hand on his former lover’s chest and nodded, silently. His eyes, though naturally narrowed, looked huge in his face in the dim lighting and heavy emotion. Riley mouthed something that could have been, _‘I miss you.’_

“I miss you,” Sam whispered in return, “but, we don’t have a lot of time here, Riley.”

“Behind the desk,” the blond barely made any noise, still standing where he was, looking up at Sam. “Check the paneling for the catch.” He finally dropped his hand and stepped back, away from Sam, feeling suddenly cold once more. Turning, Riley hurried over to the panel and slid the catch, checking the darkened passage. With a nod he didn’t look back as he hurried into the utter blackness, disappearing from sight quickly, his footfalls near silent.

Sam followed Riley into the dark corridor, the panel swinging shut behind him, sealing them into the rarely used passage. Not many minutes later, Sam slammed into the slender body in front of him. Riley had stopped without warning in the blackness. He didn’t make a sound but his slender hands caught at Sam in the darkness.

A warm breath ghosted over Sam’s cheek as Riley found his ear and whispered, “light in the room. Someone’s in there.” A tiny sliver of light seemed to shimmer along the floor ahead of Sam, barely visible. The sound of Pierce’s voice came faintly through the barrier. “Strip, James.”

“I thought you said special lessons were canceled while we’re caring for Thomas, Sir,” Bucky’s voice came out muffled.

“They are, but I want to make sure you are respecting that choice and not . . . entertaining anyone,” Pierce’s voice sounded intrigued, a bit lustful.

“I’m not, Sir,” Bucky promised, but Sam and Riley could hear the sound of clothes being taken off.

A solid knock came from the room, and Pierce swore angrily. His steps were heard as he answered it and growled out, “what is it?” Apparently the other person spoke softly enough the two in the passage couldn’t hear, but Piece suddenly sounded delighted. “Get dressed, James, and go back to your regular lessons. I have . . . parents to meet.” The man stepped from the room and shut the door.

As the sounds of Bucky getting dressed came to them, Riley lifted a hand and softly rapped at the panel. Only a few moments passed before Bucky opened the panel, looking confused, “uh . . . Riley? Sam? What are you guys doing in there?”

“No time, Bucky,” Riley whispered, eyes darting towards the bedroom door. “They’re going to deport Johann Schmidt and give TJ to Zola.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, “Zola will kill him!”

Meeting Bucky’s eyes, Riley looked miserable, “they way Pierce spoke, Zola will keep him in a vegetative state to research on. We have to get him to a hospital.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky looked horrified; however, he stepped out of the way and let the other two teens out of the passage. “We need to tell Schmidt! He’ll know how to get TJ out.”

“We were checking the linen for him when we overheard,” Riley nodded and softly stepped over to the bedroom door. He checked the hall and sighed. “Clear,” Riley said, glancing over at the other boys.

Nodding, Sam grabbed a few sheets from a cupboard nearby and headed back towards Schmidt’s room with the clean bedding. Sam knocked quietly before stepping into the room, letting Riley and Bucky walk in behind him. Walking directly over to Schmidt, the dark skinned teen reported in a very quiet tone, “they are planning on deporting you and transferring TJ to Zola for experimentation.”

Sighing, nodding once, Johann moved to his own dresser and began searching one of the drawers. He took out a medical case often used by diabetics. Thrusting the case at Sam, the teacher said, “find a wheelchair to transport Thomas. Get Jonathan to show you the way. Open the cells tonight and leave, into the woods if you must, or take the car, but the tunnels will be safest if Jonathan can show you the path. Only he and Thomas know _that_ way.”

“How can we open the cells from inside?” Riley asked carefully, his voice as quiet as Sam and Johann kept theirs.

“When I release Steven and James from night nursing, they can open the cells. But they’ll have to make sure to get those cells opened and the group of you, together, will need to fend off any guards.” Johann moved to get more supplies, shoving them into a small backpack.

“What about TJ?” Bucky asked softly, looking at his sleeping brother, “how will we open the cells and get TJ out?”

“I’ll get the boy to the tunnel entrance, with the excuse of consulting Zola in my failure to get rid of the fever. I’ll sound disgruntled, humbled, and ashamed. But you must promise to not leave any of the children to this sick whims of these people. If you leave, they _all_ leave, James.” Johann stared intently at Bucky. “If I am deported, I will be killed as soon as I return to my former country. I cannot save these children.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” Bucky asked urgently, “you can get out with us, Johann.”

Drawing a deep breath, Johann nodded slowly. “I intend to try, but first, I will have to get Thomas out to the tunnels. I cannot free the celled children at the same time. You can do this? Subdue the guards, as a group, and buy us the time we all need?” The man didn’t explain why he’d stayed prisoner of Pierce so long or why he so freely agreed to suddenly turn on the man now.

“Yes, we can do that,” Bucky nodded, “you’ll be able to get the wheelchair?” Bucky didn’t want to think about how much it would hurt TJ to be moved, but Bucky couldn’t let his twin suffer the fate that Pierce intended him to.

“Yes, I will have no problem getting a wheelchair and transporting the boy, but you must not stop and try to ease your brother’s suffering before you are totally free. That will only happen if you get to a hospital. Not the police. Do you understand?” Johann whispered urgently, “Get this group to the hospital. The police work for Pierce!”

“Hospital, got it,” Bucky nodded.

“And,” Johnn touched Bucky’s left shoulder so gently it could barely be felt, “tell them you wish to talk to rape counseling, not children services. Do you understand?”

Swallowing, Bucky nodded, “yes, I understand.”

Nodding, Johann looked over at Sam and Riley. “You two have been in back passages. Hurry, clean yourselves. The staff _will_ notice.” He placed the backpack near the door, behind a desk. “Tonight, I will sedate Thomas heavily. He will be unable to participate in his own rescue. But he shouldn’t wake in pain and scream, either. He shouldn’t waken until morning, if I judge the dose correctly.”

Taking a deep breath, Bucky nodded; as Riley and Sam cleaned themselves, the larger brunet made his way to his twin’s bedside. Running the fingers of his right hand through TJ’s curls, Bucky leaned down to place a kiss on his brother’s flushed forehead, “we’re gonna get you out, Teej, I’m not going to fail you again.” 

Nodding, Johann studied the three students. “Go to your next lesson and send the next nursing pair. Try to act normal, boys.” He placed both hands on Sam’s shoulders. “If someone questions you, say you’re afraid to wind up like Thomas. That should hopefully explain away your nerves. Send Clinton to me. I will see he understands your plans.”


	10. Dubious Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Violence, Drug Use, Death, Murder, Medical Procedures, Trafficking**

Steve stiffened almost imperceptibly right before the alarm sounded the end of the last evening nursing shift. He watched as Johann walked over to TJ and injected him with something. Frowning, he glanced at Bucky, worry in his blue eyes, still unaware of the plans made earlier in the day. He looked back at Johann, watching the man as Johann began to carefully bind TJ's leg even tighter than he'd been keeping it. “Are . . . uh . . . you sure we shouldn’t let it breathe a bit?” Steve moved towards TJ’s bedside rather than the doorway, as he was supposed to do.

“Mr. Schmidt knows what he’s doing, Steve,” Bucky breathed out, giving his old lover a significant look, hoping the expression showed just how important this was. Bucky watched as TJ seemed to fall under even more, seemingly unaware as his leg was bound tightly. He, and Sam and Riley, hadn’t given away the plans to the other students, afraid one might slip in the anticipation and nervousness.

Catching Bucky's look, the same he used to share when Steve had been hiding out in the Barnes house after his mother died, the tall blond stopped and turned with a soft frown. “Of course, James,” he responded carefully. “We should get back to our room?”

“Yes, we need a good night’s rest for our lessons tomorrow,” Bucky gave TJ one last glance before turning towards the door, “goodnight, Mr. Schmidt,” he called out softly.

“Goodnight, James, Steven. Have a fruitful evening and learn well on the morrow.” Johann handed the backpack to Bucky before shuffling the pair from the room and shutting the door.

Taking the backpack, Bucky looked at Steve before striding towards the cells, his footsteps confident and determined.

“Shouldn’t we get a shower before bed, James?” Steve asked, just as carefully as in Schmidt’s room.

“No shower tonight, Steve,” Bucky said over his shoulder, once more giving Steve that look before heading down the steps that would take them down to the cells.

With a nod, Steve followed Bucky obediently, without question, trusting Bucky knew what he was doing and would explain things alter. But that trust didn’t stop Steve worrying that something had gone wrong to make Schmidt sedate TJ so heavily or bind him so tight.

Once down in the cell corridor, Bucky headed straight for the button that would open all the doors. Looking at Riley and then Sam, Bucky hit the button quickly and as the doors opened he said loudly, “everyone! We’re leaving,” The brunet looked at Johnny, “Johnny knows the way out of here.”

Without questioning the sudden jail break, Johnny nodded and met Bucky’s eyes. “I’ll get them out, but what about TJ? I can’t leave him here . . .” Johnny slipped from his cell and began organizing the kids so the heavy hitters encircled softer, smaller, or weaker kids.

“We aren’t,” Bucky said with certainty, “TJ will be leaving with us.” Turning back to the group, Bucky said, “do not stop for any reason. Take down any staff, aside from Mr. Schmidt, that you see. We gotta do this quick.”

A tug on the backpack came, and Clint met Bucky’s eyes, tugging a second time. Steve seemed to understand. “Give him the bag?”

Nodding, Bucky slipped the bag off his shoulder and handed it to Clint. He headed back towards the stairs, “C’mon, we don’t have a lot of time here.”

“I’ll go with Buck. Beck, stay by Johnny. Get these kids out and take down whoever you need to,” Steve reiterated Bucky’s orders before sprinting after the brunet. Along the way, he softly asked, “we’re gonna attack Schmidt?”

“No, Schmidt’s gonna try to come with us,” Bucky said, heading in the direction of the area that Schmidt had said he’d meet them with TJ.

Behind them, the sounds of shouts and grunts, flesh hitting flesh or hard walls and flooring, echoed. Apparently the larger group had encountered resistance and began to fight their way out. Steve didn’t turn back, despite his cousin and Bucky’s sister still in that group. Bucky apparently had a plan and Steve was going to trust it. He gestured to the sight of several staff members at the end of the hall near the kitchens. “Buck . . .”

Looking over, Bucky nodded and braced himself for the fight he knew was coming. Even with the injured arm, Bucky was able to fight against the staff members. With Steve’s help it didn’t take long for the two of them to tackle the group of staff members. Looking over at a second group of staff members, Bucky gasped when he saw a flash of Zola, holding the handles of a wheelchair before he disappeared down another hallway. The second group of staff members seemed to be circled around something, kicking, hitting and even stabbing.

“Bucky!” Steve called loudly as he tried to go to the victim’s rescue, despite the numbers and the fact that at least three staff members were armed with knives. “It’s Professor Schmidt!”

Rushing to Steve’s aid, Bucky tackled one of the staff members, taking him to the floor. The next few minutes were filled with punching, kicking, even biting as Bucky fought his way through the assailants. By the time the attack was over, Bucky knew he sported a few new cuts and bruises, but that wasn’t what concerned him; it was the too-still body of Johann on the floor.

Steve, covered in blood, some freshly pulsing from his own wounds, looked up, fingers on Johann’s neck. “Dead,” he said, sounding hoarse and a bit shocked. “And I swear Zola was here . . .” It was almost certain Steve wasn’t quite processing the teacher’s murder yet.

Swallowing, Bucky nodded, “Zola took TJ,” Bucky couldn’t let himself grieve; he needed to get his brother out. “We can’t leave without him, Steve.”

Nodding, Steve turned and charged towards Zola’s private hellhole. He might never want to go down there, but he wouldn’t leave anyone, especially one of the Barnes family, to suffer at that madman’s sadistic hands. “Let’s get him back!”

Bucky followed, keeping stride with Steve, until they finally reached the medical wing, which seemed eerily quiet. The brunet looked around for any sign of the doctor or his twin.

Calmly, dressed in his nicely neat clothing of the day, Alexander Pierce walked out of the secondary office. He smiled at Bucky and Steve. “Hello, James, Steven. Are you not feeling well?”

“Where’s my brother?” Bucky ground out, his pale eyes narrowed in Pierce’s direction.

“Beck is not down here, James. He is in his quarters for the night, is he not? Just as you should be . . .” Pierce smoothly replied.

“Thomas, where is he?” Bucky growled; he hoped that they hadn’t already killed TJ.

Shaking his head, Pierce said, “Thomas should have been in the care of Professor Schmidt. I regret to inform you that Professor Schmidt has been keeping a dangerous secret and was trying to abduct your brother from the safety of this school. Therefore, Doctor Zola has taken over Thomas’ medical care.”

“I know what you’re planning, Pierce!” Bucky snarled, stepping closer to the older man, “I won’t let you hurt him any more!” He knew that he could overpower Pierce in a fight - - if the man played fair, that is.

Steve didn’t even give Pierce a chance to respond. Instead, he leapt on the older man, pounding a fist in Pierce’s abdomen. “Bucky! Get TJ!” he screamed as he continued to hit at Pierce, who fought back - - hard.

Bucky took the chance to bolt into the office.

Zola stood but the unconscious boy still strapped in a wheelchair. He held a scalpel to TJ’s neck, smiling at the doorway. “Good evening, James.”

Freezing, Bucky eyed the scalpel in Zola’s hand, pressed closely to his twin’s neck. “Let him go, Zola,” Bucky ordered softly, taking one small step towards the doctor.

“James, come in, do not be shy,” Zola invited in a friendly manner, eyes flickering to the side of the door then back to the boy. “We are friends here, yes? I strive to make you and your brother well.”

Bucky looked at where the doctor’s eyes had traveled and his own eyes widened at the sight of Rumlow and Rollins. He hoped Steve would be done with Pierce soon, there was no way he could fight off both Brock and Jack. “The rest of the kids are gonna get out,” Bucky tried stalling, giving Steve more time, “the school’s done. Let me take my brother and I’ll leave your name out.”

"Ah, but the others would not, would they?" Zola asked amiably. “How about I give you Thomas and you give me a different student? I am quite eager to tend to Mister Barton’s injuries further, but Mister Schmidt would not allow it.”

Everything seemed to happen so fast, there was a flash of bright red and a gurgling noise as Jack collapsed the ground. Blood pooling below the twitching body. Natasha stepped into the dimly lit room, bloody knife in her hand.

One after another three bright silver flashes traced across the room and Zola dropped the scalpel with a scream, his hand a bloody mess, eyes wide as three knives clattered to the floor beyond him, every one having hit their marks. Clint crouched down quickly as Steve swung out and grabbed for Rumlow, the stockier blond crawling out of the way, backpack slung over his shoulders.

Steve managed to wrestled Rumlow around so his back faced the near silent Russian student, Natasha. Stepping forward a step, Natasha quickly sunk the knife deep in Brock’s back, severing the spinal cord and piercing a lung. His scream cut off into a loud gurgle as blood bubbled from his mouth and belly. Steve let the abusive man drop in a dying, crippled heap.

Bucky hurried over to his twin, who was still unconscious in the wheelchair. Looking over at Steve, Bucky nodded, signaling that TJ was okay.

Walking over, stepping close to the suddenly whimpering, scuttling Zola, Steve scooped TJ from the chair. “I think Natasha and Clinton followed us, Bucky,” he said softly.

“You think?” Bucky snorted softly; he looked back at the silent pair and then at TJ, slumped against Steve’s chest. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

Nodding, not bothering to go after Zola who’d managed to scuttle from the room in the bloody commotion, Steve turned and kicked Jack’s body out of his way. He walked past the crumpled heap of the bleeding and gasping Pierce, who looked like he’d gone ten abusive rounds with a heavy weight and lost every single one. Steve kept walking, and Clint following the rest.

They made their way to the entrance of the tunnels, Bucky frowned and then looked at his brother’s unconscious form, “TJ and Johnny are the only two that know their way through the tunnels.”

Clint shook his head and turned his back, presenting the backpack towards the others.

Natasha opened the backpack and pulled out a piece of paper that mapped out the tunnels. “Follow me,” she ordered and stepped in front of Steve, leading the group into the dark passageway.

Clint turned and pushed Bucky after the petite redhead. Steve followed Bucky and, again, Clint took the back, walking quickly and watching carefully since he couldn’t hear. They didn’t see any sign the others had passed that way, the dust lying thick and relatively undisturbed on the floors. It wasn’t certain if the others had even gotten out, leaving the question: would Bucky be able to rescue Beck once he’d gotten TJ to safety?

Bucky tried to keep his fears at bay, praying the other kids had managed to get out. He fought the instinct to turn back and try and find the others.

Behind him, Steve softly said, “steady, Bucky. Steady. What was the rest of the plan once we got TJ?”

“We need to go to the hospital. We can’t go to the police. We go to the hospital,” Bucky answered, “how’s TJ? He okay?”

“Breathing, seems pretty relaxed so must be doped up good, Bucky.” Steve replied softly. “Uh . . . are the others going to follow us out?”

“Johnny was supposed to take them through the tunnels,” Bucky had to swallow down his fear.

“Must be more than one tunnel out?” Steve asked hopefully, his eye catching sight of Clint nodding. That was when he realized the other boy held a flashlight, letting the beam fall over their feet in the otherwise solid darkness. “Supplies and everything . . . Schmidt planned this . . .” Steve stopped and gurgled a bit, sounding as if he fought getting sick suddenly.

Whirling on Steve, Bucky’s asked, “what’s wrong?” He stepped closer to the blond, prepared to catch TJ if the blond dropped him.

“Schmidt . . .” Steve whispered. “And . . . Rumlow . . .”

“I know,” Bucky breathed, “but we gotta get to the hospital, Steve. Hospital, first.”

Nodding, Steve swallowed and carefully hefted TJ higher in his grasp, closer to his wide chest. “Hospital,” he repeated.

A soft tap on Bucky’s shoulder alerted him that Clint needed something.

Bucky turned to face the deaf student; he didn't ask what Clint needed, simply waiting until the blond to show what he needed.

Clint pointed down the tunnel to a faint glow up ahead breaking the distant darkness. He looked at Bucky. “Light,” he mouthed carefully, no sound escaping.

Nodding, Bucky took another breath and looked to Natasha. She nodded in return, “that’s the end of the tunnels. Says here there is a gas station a few miles down the road . . . but nothing else after that.”

Steve asked, “can we flag down a driver at the gas station and ask for help?” He didn’t even sound winded yet, despite having fought then carried TJ all that way.

“Maybe,” Natasha answered, looking wary. She turned back towards the exit of the tunnels and headed towards the moonlit entryway. Looking back over her shoulder she asked Steve, “can you carry him for another few miles?”

“Maybe?” Steve answered honestly. “I’m feeling the burn but I don’t have to put him down yet?” Behind Steve was another faint glow, distant in the tunnels they’d been following. The large blond seemed oblivious to the light.

“The others?” Natasha murmured and then gestured to the exit. She wanted to find a place to hide in case the light in the distance wasn’t the other teenagers. Bucky seemed to understand and followed her out, tapping Clint’s shoulder and gesturing for him to follow.

The stocky blond looked back at the mysterious light then thrust his flashlight in Bucky’s hand, sliding the backpack off and handing it to Natasha. He turned and ran back towards the other light.

“Clint!” Bucky hissed, grabbing at the blond but barely missing him. “Dammit,” he cursed and looked at Steve.

“Damn, really?” Steve whispered. “Do we let the idiot get caught or do we go get caught with him? TJ can’t fight back, Buck.”

As if on cue, TJ let out a tiny whimper and his face contorted in pain before relaxing once more in Steve’s arms. Bucky looked at his brother and then at Steve, “we have to get him to a hospital, Steve. Johann was hoping to keep him under until morning, but I don’t know if he’s starting to wake up.”

“After the cocktail the staff’s been doping him with, I’m surprised anything works for any length of time on TJ. C’mon. Maybe we can convince them to call an ambulance at the gas station.” Steve carefully adjusted TJ in his arms again and it was evident that, no matter what Steve claimed, he couldn’t carry the other teen forever.

Natasha handed the map to Bucky, “go on ahead. I’ll go after Clint.”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, “you can’t go back there . . .” Bucky felt sick to his stomach at the thought of leaving all the other kids, including Beck, but TJ was running out of time.

“And Steve can’t carry Thomas forever, Bucky,” Natasha pointed out, “go to the gas station, I’ll be fine.” She thrust the map and backpack into Bucky’s arms and took off on silent feet after Clint.

Looking miserable, Bucky met Steve’s eyes, “think you can make it to the gas station, Steve?” Bucky slipped the backpack onto his shoulders, wincing slightly as the weight settled on his left shoulder.

"Only if you don't ditch me, too, Buck. I can't carry the map, light, _and_ TJ,” Steve responded.

Nodding, Bucky let out a deep sigh, “okay,” he stepped in front of the blond and into the night air. Looking down at the map, Bucky then led Steve in the direction of the gas station.

TJ let out another whimper, “‘urts . . .” he murmured, his voice slurred, though it was obvious he was coming out of the sedation.

Steve took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped out faster, speeding up Bucky, as well. “He’s waking up, Buck. Soon he might be screaming. We’ve gotta get away from the tunnels and the school.”

Bucky looked at his twin and then at Steve, pale eyes worried, but he nodded and picked up his pace, putting more and more distance between them and the campus. The sound of a car approaching came quickly. It sounded like a small vehicle and from the direction of the school, though it could have been from an intersection from down that way, as well. Bucky halted, unsure if they should take the chance.

A grin spread over Steve’s face and he grunted out, “sounds like a sports car, Buck! None of the staff had a sports car, right?” He’d gotten good at identifying cars in his year of hotwiring.

Nodding, Bucky stepped out into the road, praying that they’d finally caught a break. He flagged down the oncoming car, calling out for help.

A car swerved around the corner and skidded to a halt on the shoulder, thankfully missing the trio in the road. An older man stepped out, frowning, and eyed the trio. “What the hell?”

“Please!” Bucky urged the man, gesturing to TJ, who’d begun to writhe and whimper in Steve’s arms, “my brother needs a hospital!” The man didn’t look familiar, definitely not a staff member at the school.

“Fuck,” the man said, softly, glancing over the injured boy. “Hell, are you students at the Pierce Academy?” He sounded shocked and horrified. Opening the passenger door, the man flipped the seat forward in the two-door vehicle. “Get him back there. Don’t have much room in this thing.”

Letting out a breath of relief, Bucky said, “thank you, sir.” He stepped aside, letting Steve get TJ in the small vehicle.

Steve laid TJ on the cramped back seat then backed out and pushed the front seat into the normal upright position. “You get in, Buck. Sir, they’re both hurt bad. His arm is pretty messed up. They _both_ need a hospital.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and he paled in horror, “Steve! I’m not leaving you here!”

"And there's no room for me unless TJ sits up, Buck," Steve countered. "I'll hike to the gas station or flag down the next car. But you both need that hospital." Steve cupped Bucky’s face and stared into his eyes. “Please, Buck. Let me save _you_ at least?”

Letting out a tiny whimper, Bucky’s eyes welled with tears.

The driver leaned over the hood. “There’s a gas station about a mile or two up this road. I can come back once I get this pair to the hospital. I was on my way to the school to check things out. Got a weird message from my . . . ward saying the staff were taking bets on who could kill the first student. I don’t believe a word of Tony’s odd starts, but felt I should check on him anyway.”

Swallowing thickly, Bucky nodded; he couldn’t leave TJ by himself with a stranger. Handing the map and flashlight to Steve, Bucky murmured, “get to the gas station, Steve. He’s going to come back to you.”

Steve looked at the man. “You’re Tony Stark’s guardian? How’d he manage to get you word of what they’re doing to us?” He accepted the things from Bucky.

The man shook his head. “He phoned me about ten minutes ago, actually. I was coming to check on why the headmaster needed so much money or I wouldn’t have gotten here so quickly. The man’s sounding like a leech, even with Tony’s odd quirks.”

“Tony got to a phone ten minutes ago, Buck!” Steve sounded eager. “Sounds like at least one got out!”

A whimper from the backseat drew Bucky’s attention. Sighing, Bucky nodded and looked back at Steve, “hopefully more than Tony got out. Promise me you won’t go back. That you’ll go to the station, Steve.”

Meeting Bucky’s eyes, Steve said, “not even for Beck?”

“Hey, boys, which one of you is coming? You both look like death warmed over. I’ll even let you use my cell to call some help if you want.” The man shifted, frowning anxiously, “but I gotta get to my own ward, too, and he told me he’s at a local twenty-four hour store.”

“Did he say if any others were with him?” Bucky asked, praying for any news on Beck.

“Said he wasn’t alone, but not who he was with. Are you sure you don’t wanna squeeze in back with the other boy and let this hulk in front?” The man looked over Bucky then Steve.

“I can do that,” Bucky nodded, moving the passenger seat again and squeezing into the back with TJ, being as careful as he could. Though just the small movement caused a pained groan from the smaller twin.

Steve pushed the seat back into place and sank down on into the small vehicle, pulling the front seat as far forward as he could, which wasn’t much. The man slid in, buckled up, and took off in a steady, fast pace, obviously a well-trained driver even in the dangerous night conditions.

“Home, Buck?” TJ muttered, pained eyes rolling up to look at his twin.

“Name’s Obadiah Stane,” the man called to the back seat. “I’m Tony Stark’s guardian. I’ll get you boys to the hospital. Wanna call your own folks? The cell’s plugged into the charger here.”

“No folks to call,” Bucky murmured, running the fingers of his right hand through TJ’s dampened curls.

“So, what’d you do to get sent to a rich kid’s juvie school?” Obi asked conversationally, passing a small group of people trudging along the road too quickly to register their identities further than the familiar pajama uniform colors of the students. There was no way that group held more than six or seven, though.

Bucky ignored the question, craning his neck to look at the students as they rushed past them. In the flash as they drove past, Bucky was able to make out Thor’s massive size. A bump in the road caused a pained scream from TJ, tearing Bucky’s attention from the window. “How far away is the hospital?” Bucky asked, urgency and worry in his tone.

"Another twenty miles, kid. Sorry," Obi winced in response, his voice genuinely worried.

Steve glanced over his shoulder and breathed out, “did you see? Thor had the rest of the girls with him and a couple others.”

Bucky nodded, “I saw . . . I just hope Beck was with him.”

“Beck and Bruce both. I could see them in the windshield as they got closer,” Steve sounded excited, worried, and a bit relieved. “Not sure where the rest of the students are, though . . . or Johnny . . .”

“‘Ohnny?” TJ murmured, his voice sounding dazed and lost in pain.

Obi seemed to sense the trauma going on and spoke loudly to the confused student in the back, “probably with my Tony at the store, kiddo. Just relax. We’ll be at the hospital soon.”

“With . . . ‘ony,” TJ muttered in reply.

“Sure,” Mister Stane reassured. “Why not? You can call the store and find out. It was the last number to call in. Use star six nine and they’ll reverse the call so you can get ahold of Tony and find out.” Obadiah seemed more and more worried the longer he was in the presence of the three injured students. True, he’d manipulated his ward into the boarding school to get the responsibility off his own shoulders, but he hadn’t wanted Tony hurt.

Fumbling the phone from the charger, Steve did as suggested and listened as the operator made the call then the phone rang. When a stranger picked it up, Steve asked, “can I talk to Tony Stark? He’s a boy that just used your phone a minute ago? Please?”

After a moment, he sounded relieved, “Tony? It’s Steve. Who’s with you? Why’d everyone split up?”

The other boy’s sarcastic voice came over the line, “I am stuck in hell with the five most annoying boys to cross the planet! We split into smaller groups to get past those damned dogs in the tunnels. Someone caught wind of what was going down and released them in there!”

Steve repeated, “someone released the dogs into the tunnels so you guys split up?” He glanced back at Bucky in the rear of the car. “And you’re with five other boys. We passed Thor and the girls and Bruce and Beck.”

“‘Ohnny?” TJ whimpered softly.

Nodding, Steve asked, “Is my cousin Johnny available?”

“Nope, road rash was in an ambulance last I saw. They took him off as soon as we got to the gas station,” Tony’s voice sounded loud and clear over the line.

Steve turned and said, “you guys are at the gas station but Johnny’s gone to the hospital?”

“There’s such a thing as speakerphone, big guy,” Tony snarked.

Flushing, Steve turned the cell phone to speaker. “If there are six in the gas station, one in the hospital, the girls and three of the guys still hiking. Three of us in the car . . .”

“Don’t strain your brain, blondie. Except for you, the Barnes twins, the deaf guy and the sassy redhead, everyone made it out of the tunnels,” Tony reported.

“Clint faced those damn dogs,” Bucky cursed, head falling back against the chair. He continued to run his fingers through TJ’s hair, trying to keep his trembling, agonized brother as calm as he could.

“And wouldn’t have heard their warning growls,” Steve moaned softly, eyes horrified.

“Damn,” Tony’s voice came over the line. “Really? The farm boy went to deal with a pack of security dogs? Well, don’t think we’ll see him any time soon.”

“Natasha went with him, maybe she was able to pull him back in time,” Bucky suggested hopefully, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Sure . . .” Tony agreed. “That girl’s quicker than flame on a wick.” The snarky teen didn't sound convinced though. “But I think she wouldn’t get to him before he could convert one of those mutts into a playmate. That deaf kid’s got a way of making everyone wanna be his friend. Look how he twisted the teacher to his side?”

Bucky grimaced, remembering Johann’s bloody corpse back at the school, almost unrecognizable after the beating he’d suffered.

The sports car stopped in front of the emergency door, blocking the drive. Obi opened his door and leaned in, pushing his driver’s seat out of the way and reaching for Bucky. “C’mon, kiddo. Need you to get out so I can get the other one.” Steve slid from his seat and stood, nervously, still on the phone with Tony.

Bucky allowed himself to be removed from the car. He stepped out of the way and looked at Steve, “go get someone, Steve?”

Nodding, Steve passed the phone to Bucky and turned to trot wearily into the hospital, his bruised body beginning to tremble, giving away that he was near the end of his own endurance. Their rescuer maneuvered himself to get to TJ and shook his head. “This is gonna hurt, kiddo,” he warned as he lifted TJ from the cramped confines of the car.

Unable to stop the agonized scream that was ripped from his throat as his injured leg was jostled, TJ clutched at Obi. Bucky rushed forward, helping the older man get his twin out of the car, forgetting about the phone in his hand. TJ looked on the verge of passing out, skin a sickly shade of green.

“What the hell?” came Tony’s voice. “No, Sam, I don’t know who just screamed. I was talking to Steven.”

Steve came back out with a small group of medical staff, two stretchers, and a relieved look on his face. “Got help . . .” he said before literally passing out. Fortunately, one of the nurses caught him.

“Hurts . . . stop . . . hurts . . .” TJ begged, tears running down his cheeks.

Obi helped a nurse put TJ on the stretcher then backed off, taking his phone as Steve was placed on the second stretcher. Another medical member looked at Bucky and said, “can you walk? I can get a wheelchair . . .” The other two boys were wheeled into the hospital emergency room.

“I - - I can walk,” Bucky murmured. “Where are you taking my brother?” he asked, looking at his twin.

As the nurse led Bucky into the hospital, he could hear Obi saying into the phone, “calm down, I’m on my way to the store now, Tony.”

“We’re taking you and your friends into the emergency room to check in. The doctor on call is already on his way down and will be here soon,” the nurse reassured Bucky, leading him to a bed in the large open bay, the curtains pulled back so three of the beds could be seen. Other staff members eased TJ and Steve onto the other two beds.

“TJ’s leg is broken in multiple places . . . and he has some broken ribs,” Bucky swallowed, looking at the nurse with haunted eyes, “he - - he . . . he’s going through withdrawals?”

Nodding, the nurse turned to tell the others what Bucky had said. Looking back at Bucky, the nurse asked, “do you know what he was addicted to?” He tried to ease Bucky’s uniform jacket from his shoulders. Steve and Bucky had been the only students still dressed when the break out had occurred, the rest prepared for bed.

“I - - I don’t know?” Bucky let the nurse take off his jacket, “there should be a notebook? Steve had a backpack?” The brunet seemed to be going into shock.

Nodding, the nurse called out, “check the backpack. Might have information on these kids.” He turned back to Bucky and began removing the uniform shirt. At the sight of the left arm, the man paled but nodded firmly and continued his gentle ministrations. “What happened to your arm? What’s your name?”

“It got broken. They fused metal into my bones,” Bucky answered numbly, “my . . . my name’s Bucky.”

“Bucky? What’s your full name?” The nurse got the rest of Bucky’s clothes off and helped the boy into a hospital johnny.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Bucky answered softly; he looked over, trying to see TJ, who’d gone quiet.

“And your brother's name?” the nurse prompted, beginning to write down the answers as another nurse, a female, walked over to begin looking over the arm.

“Thomas James Barnes . . . he likes to be called TJ, though,” Bucky whimpered softly, “he’s gonna be okay, right? W - - we had to move him . . .”

The female nurse smiled at Bucky, looking self-assured. “Of course. You got him to us in time, Bucky. What’s your blond friend’s name?” She took a small device, like a camera, and began snapping photographs of Bucky.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky reported, seeming unbothered by the photos being taken. “Is a Johnny Storm here?”

“Not right now. Are there more children that need the hospital, Bucky?” she asked calmly, notating each photo as well as the uniform in a large green book.

“T - - Tony said that Johnny got taken in an ambulance?” Bucky looked at the female nurse.

“We have a boy about your age named Jonathan, but he had no last name for us before he passed out. He’s in bed four.” She immediately walked over to the curtain and tugged it back to reveal an unconscious Johnny hooked up to tubes and machines but looking peaceful.

“That’s Johnny,” Bucky confirmed softly, relieved that his twin’s boyfriend had made it out and was safe in the hospital.

The nurse left the curtain pulled back and walked over again, smiling. “Well, that’s four of you. Are you all from,” she checked the uniform then continued, “the Pierce Academy, Bucky?”

Bucky nodded, trying to look at his twin again; he didn’t like that TJ had gone so quiet. He could see some nurses talking with his brother and noted that it appeared that TJ had already been hooked up to an IV. “TJ’s been having nightmares when he falls asleep . . . he was tied to the bed so he wouldn’t hurt his leg more . . .” Bucky looked back at the female nurse.

"That might be the drugs, but it could be a form of flashback, too. Bucky, I'm going to have Jeff start an IV on you while we talk, okay?" A nurse was starting Steve on an IV at the moment.

“Okay,” Bucky murmured softly; he looked at Steve and then back at the nurse again.

She offered a smile as the other nurse tending Bucky began to work on him directly with steady hands. The female asked, “how many students are hurt, Bucky?”

“I don’t know . . . we had to split up,” Bucky answered softly.

“Sounds like a bloody prison camp,” Jeff grumbled but the female shot him a warning glare. She turned back to Bucky. “Do you have a number for your guardian we can call?”

“I - - I don’t have anyone . . . our parents disappeared . . . then we were sent to the Academy,” Bucky worried at his bottom lip.

The sound of several ambulances arriving broke through the air and the nurse glanced up. She looked at her helper. “Jeff, go meet those. That should be the group that called from the house out near the school.” The male nurse nodded and hurried off after taping the IV in place.

The female nurse looked back at Bucky. “Bucky, we’re going to be overrun with victims in a second or two. This is a very small hospital and we got calls coming in from three different locations as you arrived. Would that be more students, do you think?”

Swallowing thickly, Bucky nodded.

“This group has females in it. A girl called the ambulance from a nearby house. Do you know if the girls in the school were beaten as badly as Steve or Johnny were?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” Bucky answered.

“Okay, well, I want you to try to rest. It’s okay if you fall asleep, Bucky, but first, are you allergic to anything?” She offered a smile at last to the boy, a friendly, peaceful look one would feel urged to trust.

“I don’t think so?” Bucky reported.

“Good. Is TJ?” she asked.

“I - - I don’t think so? Lot’s of the pain medicine wasn’t working but . . . that wasn’t because he was allergic . . .” Bucky glanced over at his twin once more.

“Do you know if Steve is allergic to anything?” she nodded, taking notes.

Bucky shook his head in reply.

“Good, Bucky. You’re doing good.” The ambulance bay doors opened and Beck hurried in with Thor’s rescued group, all of them walking and looking exhausted. The nurse told Bucky, “I’m going to tend the others for now, but call if you need something. And try to rest. You’re safe now.”

Bucky looked at Beck and released a deep breath of relief at seeing his little sister seemingly unharmed.

**************

A soft light penetrated Bucky’s eyelids, denoting morning, or at least doing a good job of simulating the early morning sunrise. A soft sound of shifting came from his bedside and someone stroked Bucky’s hair from his face with a gentle hand. “I think he’s coming ‘round?” a woman’s voice, unfamiliar, said quietly.

Groaning softly, Bucky blinked a few times before letting his eyes open fully; a fuzzy shape of a woman sitting at his bedside slowly came to him. 

“Good morning, James. Or do you want to use a nickname? I’m Meghan.” the blond woman had a British accent , long curly hair, and wide green eyes.

“Buc . . . ky?” He said softly, blinking again to clear his vision.

“Bucky?” she repeated then nodded and smiled brightly. Her manner was still gentle and calm. “Don’t try to move too much. Do you remember anything from two nights ago?”

“Two . . .” Bucky sluggishly looked around the room; his eyes caught on the sight of his twin in the other bed. TJ lay with his injured leg bandaged and in a traction device, supporting and aligning the repaired bones. “Teej?” Bucky breathed out, though it appeared that his brother was still sleeping.

Meghan nodded, “Thomas is doing fine. He’s had a rod put in his leg and will need therapy, but he should be able to walk in six months. We have it notated not to separate the pair of you.”

“Where’s . . . Beck?” Bucky asked, the fog in his mind slowly beginning to fade away. His body felt off . . . something was wrong.

“Rebecca’s in the next room,” Meghan replied promptly. “But she’s cleared to leave for the home whenever you agree, Bucky. We’ve got her listed as under your guardianship.”

“The . . . home?” Bucky asked, meeting Meghan’s eyes. “You aren’t sending her back to the Academy, right?”

“No,” Meghan instantly reassured the boy. “I run a home for abused children. Right now, all of the students have been transferred to the hospital here or the home I run until the courts can figure out what happened. It seems, at the least, that there were two murders at the Academy with several injured students and various conflicting stories. The state got involved, thankfully, and the Academy is barred from receiving students until things are sorted. We are in the process of contacting guardians for each of the student victims.”

“They were gonna put TJ in a vegetative state and experiment on him,” Bucky answered, “we had to get out . . . before they hurt him more.”

Nodding, Meghan confirmed, “we’d already been told that by two other students. It’s one of the . . . more common beliefs among the students. The staff, who could be found at least, were taken into custody. Unfortunately, the headmaster and medical doctor couldn’t be located yet. Law enforcement are looking for them.”

Bucky swallowed and nodded, finally moving his head to look down at himself. The teenager froze and went a shade paler. “My . . . my arm . . .” Bucky’s eyes stared at the thick white bandaging over his shoulder, his left arm completely gone.

With a regretful sigh, Meghan said gently, “Bucky, the doctors had to amputate your left arm. The metal inside was killing you, leaking toxins into your bloodstream. It’s a miracle you survived as long as you had with that stuff in there.” She stroked his hair back once more with gentle fingers.

“My . . . it’s gone?” Bucky breathed, his eyes never moving from the small stump of what remained of his limb.

“Yes, Bucky,” Meghan confirmed, “but we can help you learn to live without it. Or we can work with you and a prosthetic arm. There are worlds of medical aid for someone with a missing limb.”

Looking back at Meghan, Bucky swallowed and nodded slowly, still appearing shocked, “I - - I . . . okay?” He looked back at TJ, reassuring himself that his twin was still there.

Nodding, Meghan stroked his hair out of his eyes again. “Rest, Bucky. No decisions today. Would you like me to send your sister or brothers in?”

“Brothers?” Bucky furrowed his brows, looking confused, “TJ’s right there . . .”

“Two younger boys, twins, going by the names Junior and Fred?” Meghan prompted with a smile.

“You found them?” Bucky breathed out, pale eyes widening in shock.

“They’re fine, unhurt and happy, living with your parents, Bucky. Your parents are also here, but we thought we’d offer you a visit with your siblings first, unless you want to see your parents, too?” Meghan looked pleased at her news.

“My parents?” Bucky shook his head, “my . . . they were gone for two years? They . . . aren’t dead?”

“No, they were in the hospital after a severe car crash in England. Their power of attorney left you in the care of Sarah Rogers, but no one knew to invoke that?” Meghan touched Bucky’s cheek. “But your parents didn’t desert you or die. They’ve been trying to find you for the past few months, now that they’re back in the country again.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell us?” Bucky looked back at TJ, who appeared to still be sleeping.

“I don’t know the answer to that, Bucky,” Meghan sighed. “It’s one of the many things my group is looking into.”

“I - - I . . . they’re here?” Bucky breathed out.

“Yes, Bucky,” Meghan confirmed, smiling once more. “And you can see them or not, as you wish.”

“I . . . I wanna see them?” Bucky stated softly.

With a nod, Meghan turned and touched a button by Bucky’s bedside. “Please allow them to come in, Brian? He wishes to see his family.” She turned back to Bucky. “If you get overwhelmed, just let us know, Bucky.”

A tall blond man led five people into the room: Beck, or Becca, dressed in neat slacks and a sweater, the younger twins, one looking nervously at the pair they hadn’t seen for three years while the other looked almost morbidly curious, and Bucky’s parents, scarred, wary, and looking so very worried and even skittish. It was clear from the outset that his parents hadn’t fared well in the last few years, either. Becca walked directly over to Bucky’s bedside and leaned over, kissing his forehead.

“Hey, big brother. Look who I found?” she grinned, her eyes wary but her manner pleased.

Giving Becca a soft smile, Bucky looked at his sister and then the other four members of his family. “Mom? Dad?” Bucky couldn’t believe what he was seeing . . . all this time he’d been sure that his parents had been dead; that had been the only reason he could come up with to why they’d abandoned them.

George walked over, leaning heavily on a cane, the scars down one side of his face dragging at his features almost grotesquely. “Bucky,” he said in a slurred tone, similar to that of recovering stroke victims. A soft groan came from the second bed as TJ slowly began to wake up. The man turned to look at the other twin and tried a smile, which twisted his damaged face but lit his eyes happily. “TJ,” he slurred.

TJ blinked much like Bucky had when he’d first woken up. After several moments, the groggy, injured teen looked at George and then Winifred. “Uh . . .” TJ looked at Bucky and then back at his parents, “I’m . . . ‘reaming again?”

George looked to Winifred as if for reassurance. It was evident by his facial scars that the man had been heavily head injured in his accident. “Win?” he said carefully. “Our sons?”

Winifred Barnes appeared a lot less scarred than her husband, but some scars could be seen near her hairline, denoting she had also suffered head trauma. “Yes, George, our sons.” She looked at Bucky and then TJ, “you aren’t dreaming, TJ. I’m sorry it took us so long to find you three.”

“Took them a year or more to even get back home,” one of the younger pair spoke up at last, staring almost rudely at Bucky’s injured shoulder. He turned to look at TJ and said, “TJ . . . you look like that hurts like hell!” He’d grown to almost six feet tall in the past three years, from a trouble boy of thirteen to nearly a man at sixteen years, his pale blue eyes and long dark brown-black curls so like Bucky’s former look.

TJ blinked, looking at Fred with confused eyes, “I . . . uh . . . it does?” TJ looked at his injured leg in the weird traction device and frowned softly.

Becca hurried away from Bucky’s bedside to appear at TJ’s. She leaned over, stroking his hair carefully and smiling. “Not a dream, TJ. We’re safe. And our parents are back home.” She sounded happy, though an underlying wariness laced her tones, indicating some distrust of the situation or even of the parents who’d been gone so long.

TJ looked up at Becca, his pale eyes clear for the first time in nearly a week. He seemed to be past the worst of the withdrawal symptoms, though he wasn’t completely out of the woods yet. He looked between Becca and the other four members of their family that hovered on the other side of the room. He shifted in his bed, causing him to gasp and wince in pain. His entire demeanor was uncomfortable and wary. “I . . . I don’t understand . . .” TJ finally breathed out, his breath hitching in pain.

Nodding, Becca leaned over and softly told TJ, “our parents were in a car accident in London three years ago. They weren’t able to get back or even really communicate, according to the lawyers. We were supposed to go to Steve’s home, but that didn’t happen. Then Steve’s mom died, remember? So, that bitch neighbor got us sent to Pierce’s.”

“Why were they in London?” TJ’s eyes flickered over to his parents and then back to Becca. “Why . . . why didn’t anyone tell us they were in an accident? None of this makes any sense.”

With a sigh, Becca shook her head. “Beats the hell out of me, Teej. I’m not sure of anything anymore.” She sank onto a chair by the bedside and glanced at the man and woman once more, her eyes still wary.

TJ looked over at the unfamiliar pair in the room, frowning softly; the injured brunet shifted again in the bed, his fingers thrumming by his sides.

Meghan moved from Bucky’s side to TJ’s and smiled her greeting once more. “Hello, TJ. I’m Meghan. I understand you were worried about your friend, Johnny?”

Eyes snapping at the mention of his boyfriend’s name, TJ nodded, “is he okay? Did he get out?” TJ’s memory of the last week was fuzzy at best, most of the events that happened he couldn’t remember.

Nodding and smiling, Meghan responded, “yes. He’s in the next room with his cousin Steve. He’s doing fine, TJ.”

“Where’s Mr. Schmidt?” TJ asked, looking at Meghan, “I - - I think he was supposed to get out, too?”

Bucky flinched at the mention of the deceased teacher but didn’t say anything, letting Meghan handle that question.

“Unfortunately, three staff members were not able to get out, TJ. Mr. Schmidt, Mr. Rollins, and Mr. Rumlow are deceased.” She placed a gentle hand on TJ’s arm.

TJ blinked slowly, looking at the woman by his bedside. “Oh . . .” he said softly; he shifted again and bit his bottom lip. The teen didn’t say anything else, his pale eyes worried and full of grief.

Becca leaned in. “Rollins and Rumlow won’t ever hurt anyone else, TJ.” She sounded worried at her brother’s response.

Nodding slowly, TJ breathed out, “okay . . .”

Bucky looked over at his twin with a soft frown. Like Becca, he worried about the response. He thought that his twin might be relieved that Brock and Rollins were gone. Bucky understood that TJ might be upset over the death of Mr. Schmidt, but something about his brother’s tone made a shiver run down his spine.

Meghan turned to the rest of the group. “I think the boys need some rest. They’ve only just woken from surgery. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, could you take your younger twins out, please?” She smiled and stood, patting TJ’s good leg again and ushering those mentioned from the room, her large blond partner following. Finally, the older twins and Becca were the only ones left as the door softly closed. Becca let out a whoosh of relief.

“Is it me or do you think Mom and Dad tried to ditch us but got stuck in that accident?” she asked bitterly, the past three years having whittled away her belief in adults.

Bucky shrugged, wincing as he did so; he looked at his empty left socket again and his frowned deepened. Looking back at Becca, Bucky said, “something still isn’t right. We would’ve been notified, even if Sarah got custody of us after the accident. Someone would’ve told us that our parents were in a serious accident. And,” Bucky glanced at TJ, who remained quiet but awake, and then back at his little sister, “they never said anything about going to London. TJ’s right. None of that story makes any sense.”

“But they look like Mom and Dad . . . and she sounds like Mom,” Becca argued despite her distrust of the couple.

“I’m not saying that those two aren’t our parents,” Bucky pointed out, shifting with a wince as he attempted to sit up more, “I’m saying, that the story for their miraculous return isn’t right. Something else is going on.”

Becca leapt to help Bucky sit up, careful of the tubes and wires as well as his surgical area. “Okay, what then? I mean, why would they disappear for two years then we get shunted into hell then they show up just after we get out?”

Sighing, Bucky shook his head, “I have no idea. Fred and Junior seem happy with them - -” his voice cut off abruptly when the door opened.

The door opened softly and Steve stood there, looking worried and watchful. Behind him, leaning on the doorjamb, was Johnny, his bruises far worse looking since they’d purpled and yellowed with healing. “Want company guys?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky looked at Steve and gave the large blond a smile, “yeah, c’mon on in. We just had some . . . unexpected guests?” Bucky looked at Becca, wondering if she’d already told Steve about their parents while him and TJ were out of it.

“I saw,” Steve sighed and moved into the room, letting Johnny limp in afterward. Johnny headed straight to TJ’s bedside and commandeered Becca’s empty chair. Steve sat by Bucky and leaned closer. “We got visits from guardians, too. Seems my dad changed his mind and wants to start bonding with his only son.” Steve snorted in disbelief.

Shaking his head, Bucky glanced at his twin again, who was still quiet despite Johnny’s arrival. Frowning even more, Bucky looked back at Steve, “too bad he didn’t want that before you were sent to the Academy.”

“I still would’ve come for you, Bucky. Even if Dad wasn’t a selfish prick.” Steve reached out to lay a strong hand on Bucky’s exposed good arm.

“Steve,” Bucky breathed out, “something’s wrong with our parents. They said that they had been in an accident in London . . . that’s why they were gone for two years . . . but that doesn’t make any sense.”

“London? Like in England? Or in Kentucky?” Steve frowned, shaking his head. “And if they went overseas, why leave you guys all alone?”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Bucky agreed with a nod, “Becca thinks that they were trying to ditch us but got in the accident.”

“Buck,” Steve said carefully. “You know I’ve got a near photographic memory, right?” He twitched the light cover further up Bucky’s chest, since it had slid while Becca had helped Bucky sit up.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed with a nod.

“That day your parents left, we were sitting out back at the barbeque table, remember? The younger boys were whispering about something and kept looking over at us. I said that they were plotting on sneaking into your room or something. Your Mom came out and said she and George were going shopping and would be back in a few hours.” He looked at Bucky. “She didn’t have luggage or her passports or anything. They kept those locked in the bank, remember?”

Becca stiffened and growled softly. “They couldn’t have gone to England. Why is everyone lying to us? Is this some sick twisted thing of Pierce’s?”

Bucky sighed and shook his head, “whatever it is, we’re not falling for it. I’m listed as Becca’s guardian and TJ’s of legal age. None of us have to go with them. We’ll figure something else out.”

“But,” Becca glanced at the door then back at her brother, “Fred and Junior have to go with them, Bucky.”

Sighing softly, Bucky looked exhausted and worried, “it’s a miracle that I have guardianship over you, Becca, the courts aren’t gonna put Fred and Junior in my care, too. We can try to visit them as often as we can once we get out of the hospital, make sure they’re okay and well cared for.”

“But if this is a Pierce plot, won’t he get guardianship of them?” Becca worried.

Johnny spoke up, “you three agree those are your parents, right?” He apparently meant Steve, not TJ, in the question. HIs hand rested over TJ’s, stroking lightly.

Bucky looked at Johnny with a frown, “Dad’s pretty scarred up . . . and his voice is really slurred. But, Mom . . . she looked and sounded like her . . .”

Nodding, Johnny asked, “so we figure out how they really got hurt and were kept from you guys, right? Why it took so long for the authorities to come find you in your house. Why they chose Pierce’s place specifically?” Johnny looked at TJ and leaned over. “I’m sorry they died, baby. But now you won’t get in trouble for loving me.” He seemed to sense a sort of _Stockholm Syndrome_ effect in TJ concerning his abusers.

TJ blinked and looked at Johnny, his eyes pained and confused. “I . . . I’m sorry? I - - I’m sick, aren’t I?” The lean brunet swallowed and looked down at his lap, “I - - I should’ve never even been sent to the Academy . . . I hadn’t done anything illegal, or supposedly illegal.” TJ tried to get his mind off of his sick grief . . . he couldn’t understand why he felt upset over the deaths of the men that caused him so much pain.

Johnny leaned over and kissed TJ’s forehead, answering his first question. “You aren’t sick for grieving the death of someone you knew, baby. Even if they were mean, you have a good heart. It’s okay to grieve them.” He stroked TJ’s hand. “Look at me, baby.”

LIfting miserable, tear-washed eyes, TJ met Johnny’s bright blue ones. His fingers thrummed anxiously against the bed.

“I . . . love . . . you . . . TJ.” Johnny brushed his lips over TJ’s and pulled back, smiling gently. “A good man grieves even the wicked. So, let your heart grieve so you can move past it, okay, baby? Don’t get stuck because they were bad men. Let them have the dignity of death, like humans. They were once someone’s babies after all. You’re a good man to grieve them, TJ, my love.” Johnny stroked TJ’s cheek tenderly.

A few tears ran down TJ’s cheeks but the brunet quickly wiped them away. “I - - I’m . . .” he shook his head, cutting off what he had been about to say.

“You are going to heal and get better, TJ,” Johnny said, as if he knew what doubts and worries clouded his boyfriend’s mind and heart. “But it won’t happen overnight. Okay?”

“O - - okay,” TJ swallowed and nodded slowly.

Bucky frowned and looked at Steve, his pale eyes displaying his worry over his brother.

Steve sighed and stood up, beginning to pace. He wished he could help TJ, but he couldn’t understand why anyone would mourn those bastards. Johnny must be a better man than he to see something for TJ to mourn. But Steve wasn’t about to jump into _that_ mess. All of them would need mental help after what they’d been through, and TJ and Bucky and Riley more than anyone. “Did your parents have business partners? They were partners in some kind of real estate or safe house program or something, right? I never was too clear on what they did for a living.”

Bucky sighed softly, letting his thoughts move from his traumatized twin back to what they’d been discussing beforehand. “They told us that they were in real estate . . . but who knows if that’s true. You think that they maybe knew Pierce and signed us over to him? But, then, why would he wait two years before taking us in?”

“Maybe they really were in an accident while on their way to maybe do business with him?” Becca jumped on the discussion, the conspiracy theory. “Maybe he didn’t have access to their private information, like our home address?”

Bucky nodded, accepting Becca’s input, “and TJ’s right, Pierce had to have done something to get him at the Academy. TJ had done nothing illegal. He should’ve been sent with Junior and Fred. Regardless if we were twins, the State can’t just put a kid in juvie for the hell of it.”

“So, more than just an agreement between Pierce and your parents?” Steve asked. “Maybe they owed him money?”

“And it took him two years to find us?” Bucky asked with a nod, “maybe they were trying to run from him, got in the accident, and when Pierce didn’t get his payment . . . he found out that they had kids that could earn him a hell of a lot of money? So, he figured out a way to get us at the Academy, and because Fred and Junior had done nothing wrong, they couldn’t come up with an excuse to get them like they did with TJ?”

“Or maybe he’d have been in more trouble than it was worth taking in a pair of thirteen year olds?” Johnny asked from beside TJ.

“Do you think they would have sent for us?” Becca asked, suddenly sounding like the worried sixteen year old she was.

“They left us, knowing that a powerful man was after them,” TJ snapped, “they didn’t give a shit about us. If they had, they would’ve taken us with them or left some sort of note.”

“Why did the people say that Mrs. Rogers was supposed to be our guardian then? And why wouldn’t she come get us if she was?” Becca asked, biting her lip.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t think she was, guys. Momma would have taken you all in if she’d been made guardian.”

“That Meghan woman is lying to us,” Bucky growled out, “she has something to do with this. I don’t think we can trust her either, guys. We’re on our own.”

“Well,” TJ sighed looking down at his injured leg, “you and I are gonna be laid up for a while, Buck.”

The door opened, not loudly but not gentle soft, either. Tony stood there, looking rumpled and disgruntled, with Obi standing behind him, frowning. Tony strode in, slamming the door in his guardian’s face and turned to the five others in the room. “Good, you guys lived. That was a nightmare!”

“Come on in,” Bucky grumbled sarcastically.

“Think I just did, Bucko.” Tony strode over and eyed the bandaged stump. “What the hell happened when we split up, dude?”

Sighing, Bucky looked down at his missing limb and then back up at Tony. “Old injury. Dr. Zola had fused metal to my bones and I guess that was killing me. They had to amputate my arm.”

“My parents ran a biomechanical developmental company, among other things. I own it now. Want me to get you hooked up with the latest tech?” Tony sounded intrigued, more involved than when they’d been at the academy . . . like he’d started caring again. “And how the hell did you convince Obi to let you guys in his antique Porsche? He never even lets non-scruffy people in that thing!”

“Uh . . .” Bucky looked over at his twin and then back up at Tony, “well, Teej wasn’t doing good at all. Guess he saw that and decided to help? You’ll hafta ask him.”

“Obi won’t talk to me since I threatened to fire him and get him arrested for child endangerment if he ever tries to interfere with me again. I’m keeping him on for business reasons only, but I’m watching his ass now.” Tony crossed his arms and glanced over the others then let his eyes fix on Becca. “Pink, Beck? Didn’t think that was your style. Figured you might be the only non-gay kid in that joint.”

Becca snorted and said, “I’m _not_ gay, Tony. And I like pink. So sue me.”

Johnny interrupted, asking, “why _did_ you want to come in here, any way, Tony? We weren’t particularly close at school . . .”

Tony shook his head. “Nah, I figured by now you guys’d realize the real truth behind Pierce’s _Shop of Horrors_. Now the drugs from our meals would be wearing off.”

“Everyone was drugged?” TJ asked softly.

“Yeah, Obi may be a greedy sonofabitch, coveting my fortune and stuff, but he’s honest about not wanting to hurt kids. He had me tested as soon as he saw you lot into the hospital. There was a cocktail of mood inhibitors and sexual stimulants. I can only assume I wasn’t the only lucky one.” Tony sat down in Steve’s empty chair despite the sudden glare from the large blond.

TJ hummed softly and nodded, “definitely not the only one . . .” the teen still didn’t know what drug he’d been addicted to, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. If he didn’t know, it’d be harder to get access to it.

Tony nodded to the other twin, eying the leg traction device. “And, since I’ve got a few mansions, a staff that keeps bugging Obi for news about me, and a mess of money I don’t need, I thought I’d pass on an open invitation to my fellow prisoners at large. Anyone wanna crash at my place can come over anytime, no questions asked.” Tony shook his head, “okay, scratch that. Tons of questions asked and needling and prodding, but you’re still welcome to come and hang and eschew the controlling assholes that tried to get us all killed by trafficking us into slavery.”

“Bucky and I will be in the hospital for a while,” TJ sighed, glaring at his injured leg as if he glared hard enough the limb wouldn’t be broken anymore. “Anyone else as bad as us?”

“Nope, you two got the prize for the staff successfully crippling students. Johnny came in third, but he’s walking so doesn’t count. And,” Tony looked at the Barnes siblings and Rogers and Storm cousins. “I’ve got medical staff that are loyal to me and my parents. They’ll get you treated right. I can pay for the best, not some state run program that will give you the minimum.”

“Why?” Johnny pushed, frowning. “You didn’t like any of us.”

Tony threw back his head and laughed, dark eyes dancing in pure evil glee. “Because, the more of us I can get together with my legal team, the harder these bastards will fall. Haven’t you figured out how hard and wide this runs yet? Every damn kid in that place was _sold_ into it! If my parents hadn’t died, Obi couldn’t have even gotten me near that place!” Tony turned to Bucky, intently staring at him. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking along the same lines? Or did you buy into Miss Meghan’s naive bullshit about confused paperwork and dumb-founded officials? The twit really believes the lies they must have fed her!”

Bucky sighed and nodded, “none of us bought what she was selling, Tony. And,” he looked at TJ and Johnny and then back to Tony, “we’re gonna need somewhere to stay . . . at least until we’re healed. They told me that TJ wouldn’t be able to walk for at least six months.”

That news drew a frustrated groan from TJ. “ _Six months_?”

Johnny sighed and touched TJ’s hand. “If you push too hard, you’ll screw yourself up worse, baby.”

Tony grinned widely and nodded. “This is what I plan, guys. We go to ground at one of my places, get everyone the care they need. Get as many of our fellow inmates to join us as possible. And then, we make plans to take down this damn slavery ring . . . hard.”

Bucky looked at Steve; the blond had been uncharacteristically quiet for the entire conversation. “Steve? Whatcha think?”

Slowly, Steve studied Tony Stark. Finally, he nodded. “I think the only people we _can_ trust are the other students who were there, Buck. We need help, and Tony’s offering.” He turned to look at his boyfriend. “I say we do it. We go recover at Tony’s and plan the downfall of Pierce, Zola, and anyone else involved. Even if that means your parents, Bucky.”

“Right now,” Bucky sighed, looking upset, “I can’t afford to care about my parents. If they knowingly put us in that hell hole, then they are just as bad Pierce himself.”

“And Fred and Junior?” Becca asked, worried. “They were just kids. Do they get taken down, too?”

“Nope,” Tony grinned widely. “We save them from their own delusions by fighting for custody for them. Then you guys can get your sibs into counseling to break whatever sick hold Pierce’s people have on them before they turn into their namesakes.”

“Yeah, something’s off with Junior and Fred, too,” TJ murmured quietly, as if hating the words he spoke, “it was like Fred was trying to get me and Bucky upset.”

Steve sighed. “Much as I think this sucks, Tony has the right idea. We need to get them out of the care of whoever is controlling them. We need to get all the others to safety, too. And maybe we can start hunting down _former_ students from the school. The rescue isn’t done yet, Bucky . . . not by a long shot.”


End file.
